


Disc 1: Before Meteor

by ivorytower



Series: Fun With Dirk And Jane [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorytower/pseuds/ivorytower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This diverges pretty much right after Jane loses Lil' Sebastian on her world.<br/>~<br/>In which Dirk Strider insists that Jane can't defend herself, so he's coming to live in her house and building her a new bodyguard. Jane is none-too-thrilled.<br/>~<br/>There is a fic with the same title and the same loose premise (Dirk and Jane, doing stuff together), and this is not it, nor is it an attempt at emulation. I didn't actually know about the other fic until I happened to click my own tag on tumblr and saw people talking about it! Oops! In fairness, we're both probably basing it on the same children's book title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Exciting note edit! Ryo Hoshi has kindly hand-holdingly told me how to make pretty logs! Thanks so much!

TT: Jane.  
GG: Dirk.  
TT: I see that you're alright.  
GG: You wouldn't happen to really be the AR, would you?  
TT: No, this is me. Why? Has he been bothering you?  
GG: Oh. No.  
TT: 'Oh'?  
GG: Just oh. Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about Lil' Sebastian.  
TT: He died as he lived, a tiny robotic badass. About that, though.  
GG: I'm sure I'll have the grist to replace him with some work.  
TT: I'm sure you will too, but until then, I'm going to come to your world and stay with you.  
GG: You are.  
TT: I am. You're the least capable of defending yourself. Both Roxy and Jake are trained fighters and you aren't. You need someone to protect you until I can get Sebastian MkII finished.  
GG: Do I now.  
TT: Yes. I just need to pack, I'll be there soon.

\-- timeausTestified has disconnected: host closed remote server. --

Goddamnit, and also, shucks buster.

\--

Dirk arrives in an hour, while I'm in the living room working on repairing Grandpa Crocker. He's not carrying anything but his rocket-skateboard, but that means very little. It's probably all packed into his inventory.

His pieces are all laid out on the floor – Grandpa Crocker, not Dirk's – carefully arranged so that I can repair the individual pieces, then put them back together again. I have a better understanding now of why Lil' Sebastian spent all of his time hiding inside Grandpa Crocker. I also have a deep, abiding feeling of what many people refer to as the 'crawling heebie-jeebies'.

“Nice place,” Dirk comments.

“You've seen it before,” I reply. “How long will this take?”

“Probably, a month,” Dirk says. He stares at the pieces, or I think he does. It's hard to tell behind the glasses that may or may not also be his Auto-Responder. “I guess Seb really tore him up.”

“That which is broken can be mended,” I say, half-quoting from something.

He shrugs. “This place have an attic?”

“Not really, and no basement,” I say, Grandpa Crocker's head cradled in my lap as I fix the seams. I turn him away from me a little. “We can repurpose my father's study for it. I've Captcha-Logued his things and put them away.”

“Okay,” he says. He watches me work. Silent, penetrating. I can't see his eyes but it feels like they're drilling a hole in the back of my head.

“You can go there now, start setting up,” I say finally. Almost immediately, he stands. I'm sure he's relieved. Dirk and I have never been close, not like Roxy and I, or Dirk and Roxy... and certainly not like he and Jake. Like sticking your thumb against poorly-woven cloth, the name tears a bit at something inside.

“I will. I can't get much done until I have more grist, though,” he says. I nod a little.

“We'll solve that problem, soon,” I reply. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dirk go, he's almost gone when I ask the question by reflex.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“What's dinner?”

\--

It's another two hours before I see Dirk again. One hour and fifty-eight minutes of Roxy chatting to me, more-or-less soberly, about the fact that Dirk is living in my house. One hour and fifty-minutes of coaching Jake about the new worlds. One hour and forty-four minutes of answering questions from Dirk's AR, rather than Dirk himself. I encourage AR to use his own font colour. It's less nerve-wracking that way.

Grandpa Crocker is fully repaired, and has resumed his normal, dead-eyed vigilance in front of the fireplace, though part of me wishes I'd just captured his pieces and been done with it. I don't know what would be worse, having him here or knowing that I have a recipe to make him.

So much of the house has been copied onto Captchalogue cards and then ground down into grist. It's actually self-perpetuating. Alchemize the cards, copy the objects, turn the objects into grist, repeat. It feels stripped down and bare. There's a hole in the wall, which has been discreetly covered with a curtain. I'm not sure what my father would have to say to that. I wish he was here to be sternly disapproving, and smile when he thinks I'm not watching. I wish I knew where he was.

Once I finished with the living room, I moved on to the kitchen. Even knowing what I do about CrockerCorp, about what was probably intended for me all along, I still love it in here. The soft clicks of cupboards as they open and close. The smell of flour, of sugar and salt, the texture of raw meat against my fingers, or the weight of frozen peas. I'm standing at the counter, cutting up meat. Something small will work out, something light.

The conversation with Roxy, and even Jake, was illuminating with regards to Dirk's background. I've been lucky, I realize. I thought I was pretty cut off, before all of this started. I had Dad, though. I had breakfast with him, unless he was on a business trip, but he'd usually leave me a card. I had my tutors, assuming I wasn't between them. I certainly had... people.

Roxy had her Carapacians, and her cats. Jake had his grandmother and then his... well, his movies, I suppose. Dirk had no one. He lived alone in an apartment surrounded by water. He lived on the supplies stowed away there by an ancestor who is and is not his brother. It's amazing that he survived. So, it's something light at first. Stirfry, with meat, and vegetables. Nothing too strongly flavoured, no one should have spice inflicted on them unprepared.

Particularly considering, as I learned from AR, Dirk won't actually say anything. He'll just finish it the first time and ignore it the second time. AR is interesting. It's easier to talk to him because I know he's not a human. I don't expect him to act like a human. The fact that he's got sharp edges and hard angles and an abruptness to the point of rudeness at times is expected.

The same cannot entirely be said for Dirk. I keep expecting more from him. To be more... involved, less self-absorbed. Well, not **self** -absorbed. Obsessive at his task. AR's shown me a few pictures of the study, and one can hardly recognize the place that it was. Putting it back into place will be...

“Jane.”

It's Dirk, again. He's a little early, or I'm a little late. The last of the meat goes into the pan, and the vegetables in their containers sit by, organized by ideal cooking time. He takes one of the chairs, turns it around, and rests his chin on it, back slightly hunched. I usually have to sit up a little. He's so tall. Aggravating.

“Dirk,” I say. “Dinner will be ready soon. Could you set the table?”

This is something of a test. Dirk doesn't know how to set tables. I do, obviously, I've been doing it since I was old enough to be trusted not to break plates. AR has a picture of what a 'set table' looks like, one I sent him. I wait, Dirk nods. He gets up, pulling things from the cupboards. If I turn around, I'd probably be nose to chest with him. Why did I not inherit the ability to be tall?

I watch out of the corner of my eye, carefully adding more ingredients to the pan until it's all cooking together, mixing smells and tastes and textures together into a coherent whole. The alchemy of old, the sorcery, the chemistry. It all comes back to cooking. Dirk has the table set. He has it picture perfect, or in fact, picture imperfect: I'd deliberately left an angle on the knife, pointing slightly inwards. The angle matches.

“What are you going to need for the robot?” I ask, dishing out the stirfry, our portions equal, and I leave the rest on the cooling stovetop. I open the fridge and retrieve the orange juice. This is sort-of like the pop and tortilla chips he was eating before. At the very least, it's orange. I pour out a glass for him first, then myself.

He looks at it, sniffs it, then drinks. He frowns.

“This isn't orange soda,” he says. The question unspoken, but obvious.

“It's orange juice,” I say before I sit down. Out of habit, I murmur a prayer of thankfulness. It occurs to me that I may be the only one alive who knows what one is or why one should care, and that hits me hard.

“I've heard of juice,” Dirk says, defensive. “It's just more orange than I was expecting.”

“It's what we had before the house was moved,” I reply. “I'll get more.”

“We can just make plain rations.”

Rations. Savage. “Food, clothing, and ammunition are actually fairly cheap,” I point out, digging into my meal. Dirk pokes his. Careful. Cautious. “We'll have enough for meals.”

“Did you captcha this before you served it out?” Dirk asks, finally poking his fork into a green bean, bringing it to his mouth and biting it in half sharply. He pauses, and chews. I watch, even as I go through the motions faster, with expertise. Beans, carrots, mushroom, skewered with a chicken cube. Into the mouth it goes. Mmm, delicious, if not slightly bland. Peppers are a sometimes food.

“No, though there will be leftovers for lunch tomorrow,” I reply. “Dinner will be something fresh.”

“Waste of time, just copy it,” Dirk mumbles around more beans. He's picked out the beans, just the beans, and is working his way through them. I don't know if this is annoying or endearing. One of my cousins used to do the same. Of course, he was three.

“It's my time to waste,” I point out, trying to keep my tone light. “All you have to do is show up for meals.”

“I'll take my meals in the workshop,” he says, moving on to the carrots.

“You will not.” My voice is a little sharper than I intended, he looks up, his jaw set. I meet the mirror surface of his glasses, giving him a hard look. Giving my own reflection one. Square glasses, short, wavy hair, a stubborn set to my jaw that matches his own. “No food in the study.”

“It's my workshop.”

“It's my father's study, you're borrowing it.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Possession requires an old-priest and a young-priest.”

He pauses. His jaw relaxes, just a little. “Jake said you didn't like movies.”

When I first realized I had a crush on Jake, I tried to watch every movie I could to keep up with him. Rapidly, I fell behind, because schoolwork, conferences, business meetings, cooking, and actual good taste prevented me from watching every movie, ever, but I watched more than a few.

“Pop culture is pervasive in the internet age,” I say instead of all that, tucking it away. “Meals in the kitchen, robots in the study.”

“Fine,” he says, picking his way through the carrots. Then the mushrooms, then the chicken cubes. “Is this meat?”

“Yes.”

“What's it made of?”

“It's chicken.”

“Just chicken?”

“Just chicken.” I watch him. He's a little more relaxed now. “What else would it be made of?”

“Any bird. Chemicals.” He taps his temple with one finger, narrowly avoiding a hair spike.

I sigh, deeply. Right. Of course. Also, any promise I made to believe Roxy also extends to Dirk.

“Technically, everyone and everything is made of some kind of chemical composition,” I say, trying to lighten the mood again. “Most of which aren't directly involved with mind control.”

“Okay.” Dirk is not to be teased, he goes back to eating the chicken. I finish off my meal, and then the rest of my juice. It's delicious. Non-mind controlling, even if I do take a quick glance at its brand. Tropicana. In no way related to CrockerCorp.

Once Dirk's done, he pushes his plate forward a little. I note this with a smile. “Do you want more?”

“What about leftovers?”

“Leftovers aren't a promise, they're a contingency. If you eat all of this tonight, I'll just make something else for lunch.”

“Alright.” He looks up. Expectant. It's almost endearing, that Crocker cooking has seduced the savage beast. I wince at my own thought process, and go to serve him some more. While he's eating, I go to wash the dishes. I've considered simply grinding and re-alchemizing the dishes, and it may save time later, but for now, just like there's something soothing about cooking, there's something calming about washing dishes. In truth, the saying is 'I cook, you clean' or vice versa, but I don't know that Dirk knows how to do that, either.

Again, I wonder how he survived.

The surfaces are first, except the stove. It's not cool enough yet, that will take time. So it's the counter tops and the cutting boards first. Sprayed, wiped down, dried and cleaned. Prop the cutting boards up so that they can dry. Then filling the sink, testing the water until it's hot. Dish soap, then the utensils at the bottom, giving them the most time to soak, then the plates, the containers I kept the vegetables in. The frying pan will be done later, when Dirk decides he's done eating.

While I wash up, I hear Dirk eating. I glance over my shoulder, and now he's eating the way I was. Three beans. One carrot. One mushroom. One piece of chicken. Into his mouth. Like when we squared off, it's a reflection of myself in the whole of a different person.

It's enough to make me feel bad for Dirk Strider.

He helps himself to the rest of the pan while I'm washing the rest of the dishes. I test the pan briefly, then drop it into the sink, soaking it. This time, when there isn't quite enough sauce, he dips the chicken in it. He tries different combinations of flavours. It's endearing. Normally, I'd let the dishes drip dry and put them away later, but to stay, I dry them by hand, stack them, and put them away. I drain the sink, and let the pan dry.

“It was good.” Dirk puts the fork and knife on the plate, pinning them in place with his thumb as he gets up, bringing them to the sink. Wordlessly, he turns on the water, scalding hot. I can't help but wince as he uses the water pressure to clean off the bits, blasting it off by force instead of scrubbing. He does the same with the fork and knife. He gives me a look, a challenge, almost. 'I'm not a complete savage'.

I'll have to scrub them when he goes.

“I'm glad you liked it,” I say. “Thank you for helping.”

“Sure,” he replies with a shrug. He puts them in the dish rack. “I'm going to stay in the study. I brought a bed.”

“Of course--”

“It's my space, so stay out of it.”

“Until my father returns, or you leave,” I say, trying not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah,” Dirk says. He looks as though he might say something else, and shoves his hands in his pockets, turns, and goes.

I sigh, and retrieve the plate, fork, and knife. It's going to be a long month.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane and Roxy discuss Dirk, roleplaying, and there is pie.

TG: so, whats it like  
GG: Frustrating. Awkward. He eats like a horse. I made a meal for four people and he ate most of it.  
TG: serve yourself first janey.  
TG: so you get to eat  
GG: Noted.  
TG: not gonna lie p.envious tho  
TG: practically the first thing we do in this game  
TG: and its dirk coming to hang out with you.  
GG: He thinks I'm incompetent and is only here so that I don't somehow fail with regard to his grand machinations. Hardly anything to be envious about.  
TG: harsh girl  
GG: He's brooding in my father's study. We haven't spoken since dinner.  
TG: hes like that  
TG: hes not talkin to me either  
TG: im playing around with ar as much as I can  
TG: le sign  
GG: Playing around?  
TG: well were not allowed to rp the fun way  
TG: so were just shitting around.  
TG: think hes talking to Jake tho  
TG: dirk not ar  
GG: What did you roleplay, when you still could?  
TG: well uh  
GG: Come on, Roxy, we're adults.  
TG: im like gatherin my thoughts and stuff  
TG: basically we pretended to be other people from another place  
TG: like i was a powerful wizardess and he was a complicated b. dark prince  
TG: that kind of thing. wed be enemies and then id get captured.  
GG: Go on.  
TG: then wed bone  
GG: I... see.  
TG: but like apparently ar's technically 13 and its supposed to be gross  
TG: but like no 13 yr old ever was that creative  
TG: i think distri underestimates him  
GG: Probably. So. You like that kind of thing? The fantasy, the set up, and then... sex?  
TG: yeah  
TG: its kinda like reading a book  
TG: except you get to help write it  
TG: or writing one i guess but with a partner  
GG: You can't do that any more, though.  
TG: le sign  
TG: no  
TG: because of the block  
GG: Well, it's only a block with the AR, though. Not on your whole client.  
TG: yeah but there's like pmuch no one else to play with tho  
TG: dirks so out its not funny  
TG: not jake  
TG: not ar  
TG: wait  
GG: There's me.  
TG: checkin whats in this drink  
TG: nothing amazing  
TG: hang on to your fedora  
TG: whaaaaaaaaat?!  
GG: I said I'll roleplay with you. The way you like. Unless you don't want me to.  
TG: youve never rped before right  
GG: Well, not exactly, no.  
TG: and youve never been textually busy with someone before either right  
GG: No, Roxy.  
TG: do you have like some secret collection of hot pronz that youve been holding out on me about  
GG: No! I just... thought it was something you'd enjoy. I'm sorry, never mind.  
TG: its not like that  
TG: its just it gets kinda heavy  
TG: and if youre not used to it you might find it weird  
TG: i dont want stuff to be weird between us  
GG: It's not going to be weird, I promise.  
TG: okay well like i p.much only play girls so youd need to play a guy  
GG: ...  
TG: janey?  
GG: It's fine.  
TG: are you sure it wont be weird  
GG: It won't be, I promise.   


\--

It was pretty weird.

We spent most of the evening talking between us, or 'out of character' as Roxy put it, arranging the set up. I am, as she put it, an 'rp virgin', so this took some time. Much of it was finding a setting I was most comfortable with.

With Roxy, it's all about wizards and princes and being whisked away. My choice of fiction is usually hard-boiled detective action, snooping around for clues and solving mysteries. No princesses, no wizards. After some discussion, we compromised.

By day, I am Jane Crocker, Heiress of CrockerCorp and expert chef. By night, I will be Juan Caliente, Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, and Roxy will be Eldar Princess Miahia Ulthuan, one of the many children of Eldraid Ulthuan, the Craftworld's seer. Our roleplay will be about Inquisitor Caliente's discovery, pursuit, and eventual capture of Princess Miahia.

Then they will bone.

Roxy promises she'll go easy on me, that we'll draw this out so that they'll be time for me to get used to roleplaying. I agreed to this for two reasons. The first is that I'm nervous about 'the moment', such as it were. The second is that I'm going to need to do some research.

It's not as though I don't know what... pleasure is like. At least, textually. However, if I'm playing the part of a man, it's going to be different. I suppose I could ask AR, but that might count with regards to his block and Roxy.

Also, Dirk will find out.

Fortunately, whatever mechanic that allows us to keep connected through our Pesterchum clients – this time, I took Roxy's advice and switched from BettyBother, I don't want ads popping up while we're in character – also allows us access to the internet.

We all know the song, don't pretend otherwise.

I've made myself a Pesterchum-Eyeglasses alchemical hybrid, so that I can catch up on years and years of poorly written porn to prepare myself for the moment while I do mundane tasks around the house.

I hope I don't sound contemptuous, because I don't want to be. I want to do this. I care about Roxy and... well, I can understand how lonely she could feel when the only person sharing her space in a loose sense was Dirk Strider.

It's sort of like talking to a wall. A very surly, very hungry wall.

Well, at least he's eating. Meals have been... well, not precisely challenging. I've been going through my various recipes, preparing new things for him. Fortunately, I seem to have a talent for cataloguing pictures of things and making them real. It started with finding an old grocery flyer in our recycling box.

It was sad to see it, this tiny bit of normalcy that would never return again. Without thinking, I copied a pile of apples. Checking my inventory, I didn't have 'a picture of a pile of apples'. I had 'apples'.

My palms itched.

My eyes widened.

I smiled my biggest smile.

Ladies and gentlemen of the Land of Crypts and Helium, there shall be **pie**.

\--

A virtual library of foodstuffs and forty-five minutes later, Dirk pokes his head into the kitchen.

“What's that smell?”

“Pie,” I announce happily. “We have an infinite supply of food.”

“Of pie-food?”

“Well, that too.” I point to the stack of inventory cards with my elbow, my hands are too busy kneading. “It's not just what's in the house, I can copy anything from a catalogue and use it to cook with. With the ability to infinitely replicate baking ingredients...”

“Pie.”

“Pie,” I confirm. “These I'm going to copy and send them to Jake and Roxy, so they can alchemize them on their own. Also, they're perfectly fine to freeze and reheat.”

“Pie,” he repeats. He moves up, leaning over me, peering down into the pie filling, staring at the various shades of brown. He reaches down with a finger, swipes some, and puts it in his mouth.

“Your hands are dirty!”

“They're pretty clean.”

“Wash your hands!”

“Fine.”

I mutter to myself, trying not to smile. I hear the water turn on, and then off. He comes over and does it again.

“Stop stealing my pie filling.”

“It's good.”

“I know it's good, I made it.” I grab a spoon and make to smack his hand. It's gone faster than I can blink, with more filling. “You'll spoil your dinner.”

“Maybe I'll eat less of it.”

“I doubt it.” I sigh. It's not as if the filling is hard to make. I pick up the bowl of filling and set it in his hands. “You can have this, but use a spoon.”

“Has the spoon washed its hands?” His face is still straight, but something feels like a smile. I smile back.

“Everyone who comes into my kitchen washes their hands.”

I finish with the dough, wrap it, and put it in the fridge. It needs to cool so that it can be rolled out into pie crust. Then I get myself more apples, and start to prepare them. Dirk eats his way through the entire bowl of pie filling.

Like a brat, he holds it out, like I'll give him more.

I almost want to, but he'll make himself sick on the cinnamon and brown sugar.

“We'll have pie for dessert, after dinner.”

“We didn't have dessert before.”

“I figured you'd had enough to eat at that point,” I said. Dirk shrugs, and carries the bowl to the sink. Before he can turn the water on, I say, “Just leave it, I'll clean this up when I'm done.”

“I know you think I'm doing it wrong.”

Oops. When did that happen?

“It's just that it's not what I was expecting,” I say, searching for the right words. “I'm used to using a cloth, or a sponge.”

“Then show me what you expect.” His tone is hard, flat. “Don't just let me keep fucking it up so you have to redo it.”

I remember that first night, the way he changed how he ate to imitate me.

“Just give me a minute, to finish up with this.” I pause. “You can watch if you want.”

He nods, curtly, and moves up to watch. It feels as though my every move is being recorded, captured, judged, but I don't say anything. Apples come first. Washed, peeled. Cored with a knife, then cut in half, then into pieces. Six of them, a little too perfect and uniform to be real, but the taste is right. That I've tested extensively, as has Dirk, now.

Cinnamon, brown sugar. I hardly have to think about it, it's all put together and cooking. I collect things up, ready to put them in the sink. Dirk moves beside me, watching. The water flows, slightly cooler than what he uses, then the soap, and the cutlery soaks while the bowls are washed out. He watches, silent.

Without thinking, I hand him a wet bowl. He picks up a towel and starts to dry it, then sets it on the counter. Unsure.

It's not part of the script.

I'm struck again by how hard Dirk's Auto-Responder worked to imitate a human's behaviour, and how much Dirk's trying to copy that of a robot or a computer.

What about Jake?

I continue to wash, silent, as my mind pokes that sore spot again. Obviously, Dirk isn't 'just like a robot', because he's actively, aggressively, pursuing Jake. AR and Dirk both, as a matter of fact. Pursuing human contact is normal. Expected, in fact, by many.

I consider, even as I leave Dirk to dry, and I wipe down the counter tops. Roxy pursued Dirk very aggressively, and that's where AR came from. Pursuit is **a** human behaviour, but it's not the only option. A wealth of free fiction swirls in my head. Did Dirk learn how to pursue Jake from Roxy? Did he learn it from his own wants and needs? Fiction?

I give Dirk a sidelong glance. He dries with precision. No expression on his face. No help there.

“Jane.”

“Yes?”

“Could we have two pies for dessert?” His voice sounds like he's smiling again.

Mother Mary and Lord Jesus, what have I created?

\--  gutsyGumshoe begins pestering tipsyGnostalgic at 10:48 pm --

GG: Alright, I think I'm ready.   
TG: awright  
TG: are you absolutely sure before we start  
TG: if youre uncomfortable just tell me  
TG: ill totes understand   
GG: No, I think this will be fun.   
TG: hell yes it will  
TG: youre the best “Juan”   
GG: I try.   
TG: btw thats totes a porn name in waiting   
GG: I hoped it would be appropriate. ;)   
TG: heheheh.   
GG: ...heheheh.

\-- Log Started -- 

::It is dark and gloomy on the world of Locah, with little sunlight penetrating the oppressive cloud-cover. Staring out the window of his transport, Juan Caliente contemplated the glittering lights of the city below him. As an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, he had travelled the length and breadth of the Imperium to defend it from the fearsome xenos breeds that threatened it. He was a true servant of the God-Emperor, fiercely devoted, and yet... and yet somehow, he knew that the moment he set foot on this backwater, miserable planet... all of that would change.::

* Princess_Miahia uses the cover of darkness to conceal her movements. Tale, pale, and beautiful, she is also a powerful Eldar sorceress. So much from her Craftworld has been lost. Today, she will find the Pendant of Asuryan, an ancient artifact, lost during the darkest days of the 4th Black Crusade, and now, it is within her grasp, so long as no one interferes.

::'Last call for disembarkation,' call the attendants. 'Step lively, now.'::

* Inquisitor_Juan stands, retrieving his carry-on, and murmurs a brief but fervent prayer that the remainder of his luggage hasn't been lost in transit, and queues up with the others. He straightens the cuff of his sleeve over an expensive, antique time piece. Late, of course. Some things don't change, even in the grim darkness of the far future.

((where there is only WAR!!))  
((Roxy!))  
((sry))


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane and Roxy RP, Dirk and Jane explore her world, there are emotional freak-outs and deep thinky-thoughts about human behaviour.

GG: So I've decided to teach Dirk how to cook. He seems to want to learn.  
TG: wow  
TG: r u sure he doesnt want to turn all ur appliances into death robots  
GG: He'd better not, I trained them all to only use their kill setting for good.  
TG: heheheh  
TG: but seriously he wants to learn  
GG: Yes. I don't think he likes having things that he doesn't know how to do, at least, in a building sense.  
TG: maybe he wants to cook breakfast in bed for jake  
GG: I suppose that's possible.  
TG: sorry  
GG: It's fine.  
TG: did u want to continue r arr pee  
GG: ...it's the middle of the afternoon.  
TG: who says we cant arr pee in the afternoon  
GG: Well, no one, but we're exploring a crypt.  
TG: and yet you brought ur pesterspecs with u  
GG: ...hang on, I'll turn on my logs.  
TG: hell yes. lets get textual all up in this bzns

\-- Start Log -- 

Inquisitor_Juan “Curses.” He punches the temple wall, flinching as the impact shoots through his arm, and displaces a thin shower of dust. The Eldar had escaped! He had only caught a mere glimpse of her, but what he saw only angered him further: long, swirling red hair, with pale-skinned, gently tapering ears, luminous green eyes, the robes of Uthlwé fluttering as she disappeared out of sight.

((how did you get that special e))  
((I used Insert > Special Character in Open Office and just copied it from there.))  
((thx))  
((alt-codes are bs))

* Princess_Miahia felt her heart race as she lurked out of sight, invisible, watching the human with her hand over her throat. That had been too close. Not in many centuries had anyone so much as detected her, much less nearly caught her as this man had. Something about him stuck in her mind. Perhaps it was his dark skin, or his piercing, gold-brown eyes. Maybe it was that little frown as he worked things through the mind too brilliant to be that of a Mon-keigh. She frowned. What was wrong with her? Why had she not dismissed the primitive from her mind?

::There was no point in being angry, not now. It would distract him from the hunt. Clearing his throat, he|

“Jane.”

I start, guilty, nearly dropping the grinder.

I can't see Dirk's eyes, but I do see his eyebrow rise. I try not to flush. Fortunately, it isn't too visible on my skin tone.

“What is it, Dirk?”

“I just asked you what you thought of the carvings, before we strip this place down and turn it into grist.”

((One minute, Roxy. Dirk.))  
((np))

“It's sad.” The adventures of Inquisitor Caliente can wait. I tap the display for Roxy's chat off, and use my glasses to take pictures of the wall carvings. My consorts, probably salamanders, drew these. The tablets we've found scattered around, the crypts. The memorials. “They waited for so long.”

“It was their job.”

“That doesn't make it not sad,” I point out. “We're essentially game constructs too, if I understand the ectobiological rigamarole correctly. We were chosen because we were always meant to play this game. Our precursors were always meant to fail.”

Dirk grunts, looking... angry? Disgruntled, certainly. No grunt could dis him. Or something.

I'm getting odd in my old age.

“We weren't meant to succeed either, exactly. Not with having to wait for those from the other Session to join us. We're just meant to be prepared.”

Dirk snarls something, and stalks away. I take one last picture and follow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?!”

“Nothing!”

“It's not nothing if you're mad!”

“It's bullshit!”

“Why, because we're not heroes?”

“Because we're not in control of what happens!”

Ah. Dirk paces, kicking at one of the stone tablets as he goes. I rescue it through captchalogue.

“I'd have thought you'd be used to it. You couldn't exactly control what happened where you lived, before. When you lived there.”

“The hell I couldn't.” He turns to me, his gaze burns even through the glasses.

((Roxy, I'm sorry, this may take a while longer. I promise we'll get back to it later.))  
((np at all, im gonna go eat some of ur fine ass pie. :) ))

“How?”

His hands flex, as if grasping for something. I've seen his hands before, obviously, but I hadn't noticed how scarred they are. Tough, roughened by work. Machinist hands, my father would say.

“You're right. I couldn't change where I lived, or how I had to live, but I could control some things. I controlled what I listened to and saw. I decorated my room. I built and programmed my robots once I knew how. The first ones shut down when I was ten, but then they were mine to use.”

“...you were raised by robots?”

That explains so much, and yet somehow makes me really angry.

“Yeah.” He takes in a deep breath through his nose. For the first time I notice how thin it is, sharp, straight and strong. He continues, calmer, or at least, less emotional. “They could talk and teach, but weren't really bright. Some of the earliest ones, all they did was feed me.”

All I can think of is a study I read about once. About how infant monkeys, when offered the choice between two false mothers, one made of a metal cage, but possessing food, and the other, with no food but was made of terry cloth, the baby monkeys would take the food, but sought comfort with the cloth monkeys. Comfort outweighed survival.

I wonder if whoever made Dirk's robot nannies ever read that study.

Somehow, I don't think they did.

“You said they started to shut down.”

“Yeah.” He paces, he runs his hands through his hair. “I guess they were meant to. They were dead.”

“Dirk...”

“I got curious, after a while. I thought I could do something, fix them. The mid-range ones had been teaching me, mostly about robotics. I started opening them up. They were junk, they were meant to be junk. They didn't have a point or a purpose except to raise me and then **die**.”

“Dirk.”

His chest heaves. He watched Jake make out with his own severed head with no expression, and now he's freaking out about robots.

Dead robots. Robots that had to live for a certain period of time, assigned to serve a specific purpose, then die.

God.

“I figured out how to make better robots. Stronger ones. Robots that won't die. Deadlier, more dangerous. Robots smart enough to interact with.”

“Robots that could sing. Er. Rap.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He takes another deep breath, and another. “Robots that had a reason to stick around. To last.”

To care. I move in, to touch his shoulder. He flinches back.

“What?”

Terry cloth monkeys.

“I was trying to comfort you. Hug you, maybe.”

“I don't need a hug, I'm an adult.”

“We all need physical comfort at times--”

“I don't. I don't know why I told you that stuff. Just forget it.” He moves away from me, pointedly. He goes to move on, further in.

“What happens when Jake wants to comfort you, Dirk?” I ask, and I regret it almost as soon as I say it. Naturally, I keep going. “Are you going to push him away?”

Dirk snarls at me, and stalks out the other way. I don't know how far he'll go, but probably, not far. He's still my bodyguard, after all. Not far enough to leave me alone, not close enough to engage in a conversation without me chasing him.

I close my eyes, and rest my head on the cool, dark stone, next to the sketch of a salamander blowing a bubble.

My poor consorts. They were so happy. They believed forever, until they died. They waited for me and I wasn't coming.

The religious parallels are chilling. I touch the cross under my shirt, and then turn my display on again.

((Roxy? Still there?))  
((afraid ur pie has lost its innocence to my mouth. Wonk.))  
((I'm ready to play again. Like you wouldn't believe.))  
((whatd dirk do now))  
((It's not important, let's just play.))  
((ok))

\--

Dirk and I reconcile, in our own way, over dinner.

We eat in silence. It's fish, fresh and lightly fried, on a salad bed. Just the right amount of salt, a bit of lemon for zest. You simply have to have zest.

Dirk eats. I eat. Dirk drinks juice, I drink juice. Utensils scrape, faint, over our plates.

When I'm done, I start to pick up my plate. Dirk grabs my wrist. Then lets go. Eyes meet reflection.

“I'll do it. You cooked. I'll clean.”

“You don't have to,” I say. My voice is steady, but Dirk's speed nearly sent me jumping from the table. Of course, anyone who taught him to fight would have also been a robot.

“I'm going to.”

“Alright, then.”

“I'm going out, after dessert.” I blink, and look up at him. He eats some more fish. I've simply accepted the fact that he eats enough for three people and still can eat a whole bowl of apple pie filling.

He is not allowed to eat a whole bowl any more. It's unhealthy, if not tasty.

“Going out, where?”

“Jake's.”

Ah. Jake's.

“Have fun.”

“Don't leave the house. I have some preliminary defenses I can turn on. That should keep you safe until I come back. Don't invite Roxy over, either.”

“Why not?”

“They'll attack anyone who isn't you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How will you get back?”

“I'll destroy them.”

Both eyebrows now. “What if you can't?”

“I can.”

Okay, then.

“Have fun,” I say again.

He grunts, and goes back to eating. He watches, though, to make sure that when I get up to dish out the cut fruit and cream I don't take my plate to the sink. Instead I place bowls and spoons on the table. The moment his plate is clear, he switches to the fruit without missing a beat.

He all but inhales it, something he hasn't done for some time. It's all cursory to him. I wonder if he's simply doing it by rote. Cook dinner, set table, eat dinner, eat dessert, wash up, disappear for the evening.

I prop my chin on one hand, watching him. Economy of movement is a good term for it. Dirk doesn't seem to do anything elaborately when he can do something simply. The same can't really be said for his skill at robotics, though. AR's existence is proof enough of that.

His mind runs in complex patterns. His body doesn't. That could be why there's disconnect between the way he thinks and the way he acts. Maybe there's a misfire in there somewhere? Maybe he thinks with a different part of his brain than I do? Certainly--

“Hey, are you going to eat that?”

He pokes my elbow. He recoiled from a hug, but he's touched me twice in the span of an hour. Well, maybe he realizes how bizarre he was. Maybe he's warming up for Jake. Don't visualize.

“I am, I'm just thinking. Go ahead and wash up, I'll take care of this one.”

“Okay.” He whisks the dishes away. Well, now I'm staring at where he used to be sitting. Roxy is actually asleep, and will be until the late evening. No danger of company for me tonight. I feel like I miss GCat, for some strange reason. Maybe it's the feeling of having something in my hands to work on. I should have been better at knitting.

I finish my fruit and clean up. I'm not ashamed to admit Dirk is more thorough than I am, now that he's doing it properly. He always dries, too, and always leaves the pans to drip. It's what I taught him, after all. I wash my bowl, dry it, and put it away. Dirk's following a script, and I'm setting an example.

How much of human behaviour is really a script?

That's an interesting question. One could argue that everything is. I can remember Mrs. Mercer teaching me to say 'please', 'thank you', 'may I' and 'you may' as a child. I remember people cooing over my manners, even as I was paraded from one occasion to the other, my father's hand on my shoulder, and two suited and armed men following my every move.

Caregivers that serve their purpose and then die.

When was the last time I saw Mrs. Mercer, before the world ended? How different is dismissing a child's tutor when the child outgrows them? I remember crying when she left. I thought she hated me, and that's why she left. I remember getting tutors that actually did, even as they took my family's money. I'm going upstairs. I think I have some reading to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a dream-bubble, angst, the pretend-deaths of everyone Dirk cares about, and Jane asks herself what she's trying to prove.

  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic begins pestering gutsyGumshoe at 1:46 am --

TG: amg, im so sorry janey  
TG: like i slept forever and left u hangin  
TG: i am so ready to be a princess space elf  
TG: space elf princess  
TG: whateva  
TG: janey?  
TG: oh man r u mad at me  
TG: i legit set an alarm and it didnt go off

\-- tipsyGnostalgic sends you a nudge! -- 

TG: janey?  
TG: r u asleep?  
TG: whered u go?

\-- gutsyGumshoe has gone offline (Reason: ping timeout 294 seconds) -- 

TG: aww. :( :( :(

\-- Your message cannot be sent, gutsyGumshoe is offline. -- 

TG: FU PESTERBITCH

\-- Your message cannot be sent, gutsyGumshoe is offline. --

\--

Something outside crashes loudly, and I start awake. I must have fallen asleep. My computer screen is too blurry to read. I rub my eyes. I was reading about social disorders on Wikipedia. There are my dozen tabs, waiting.

I click on Roxy's Pesterchum window. Offline now. She must be sleeping clear through to morning. I smile. Everyone needs to sleep in sometime.

There's another crash. I don't know what's out there **to** crash. The balloons seem to float on their own, the trees have no wind, and seem evenly distributed, no weight presses down. There's no weather, there's not even really light.

Time is an illusion; bed time doubly so, with apologies to Mr. Adams.

I get up from my chair and look out the window. I gasp.

The world is flooded and I am alone. As far as I can see, there's water, moonlight flickering and dancing on the surface. It's beautiful in a strange, desolate way. Like that awful Kevin Costner movie that Jake loves. I did say I tried watching movies, didn't I?

There's a hole in my house.

There is a hole in my house and now the world is flooded.

I go downstairs. Downstairs is... bare, empty. No Grandpa Crocker. No hole in the wall. No alchemiter in front of my front door. No driveway, obviously. I move into the kitchen. That looks normal, though the familial touches are gone. My father kept things I'd drawn for him in childhood on the fridge, notes for shopping list, a silly, rainbow array of fridge magnets that often were smiley faces or arrows pointing.

Nothing.

I check the cupboards. They don't open. They have handles and hinges, but they don't **open**. The fridge does, but it's empty. More than empty, it's a hole. I close the door. Think, Gumshoe, think.

This is not my house and I am dreaming.

Logic normally ends dreams. I think, very hard, _I am dreaming and none of this is real._ Nothing. Annoying, but not unprecedented.

This is not my house and someone else is dreaming.

Dream bubbles.

Dream bubbles are the dreams of the living, and sometimes the dead. They float through the void. Instead of being asleep, or awake, on Prospit and Derse, now that our dream-selves are dead, our unconscious selves float through the Furthest Rim, and we can interact within dream-bubbles.

I am in someone's dream bubble. If I had to guess, I know whose it is. Dirk's. Logically, this means Dirk's house should be somewhere nearby. There's another crash, and another. I look outside again, really looking, beyond the water and the moonlight and the desolation.

My house is on a low platform. There are other houses, other apartments, clawing desperately at the sky, like the last gasps of life from a dying man. Some even form stunted, clawed hands. I shiver. Where would Dirk be?

I scan the horizon. The tallest tower looks like it has something on it. Of course. I try to find out what's crashing.

The buildings are collapsing, sliding and breaking and sinking down.

Down far enough to jump on? I head out the front door. There's a little piece of driveway left, enough to get a running start. I run, I jump, I land, I roll.

The next crash is loud, profound, vibrating through me as I cling to the edge of this building. I turn. My house is gone. Well, I can only go forward. How appropriate. How philosophical. When your past comes crashing down around you, you can only go forward.

I'll have to remember that.

This building is sinking still, I can feel it. There isn't a lot of time for philosophy, it's running and jumping and scrabbling to stay high and dry. My knees bruise, my elbows are scraped raw. Still, each time I get a little higher, a rickety, broken staircase to Dirk Strider.

It's a long, perilous climb. Again, appropriate.

There's another sound, something high and strange. I frown. The last building isn't high enough to get me all the way up. This jump hits steel girders, wet and rusting and filthy. I nearly fall, I cry out. The sound is swallowed, as if sound is for someone else. Someone more important.

Regardless of what people claimed, I was never the centre of the universe, though sometimes I felt like it. There's a pressure to that, a sense of expectation and discomfort and clinging need. I remember reading so much of that feedback from people, the people who claimed my company was greedy, was evil, was selfish, was hurting others.

No matter how many charities, no matter how many functions, everything was said to have been done for a selfish purpose. I was told never to reply, never to say anything that sounded like an official statement. So many times, I wanted to scream, 'I just want to do good. Why was I given power if not to do good with it?' Perhaps people think I should have given it away. Why, so that I can be helpless again? So it can pass on to men and women who truly only do things to increase the bottom line?

There was a reason why I never believed Roxy's conspiracy theories. It takes no more intelligence to doubt everything than it does to believe everything. I didn't want to believe that my best and closest friend was also one of the people who screamed and railed at my company, at **me** day in and day out. I simply had the proof in front of me. Then everything happened and the world ended. Then Roxy was right and I was wrong, and I should have believed her all along.

I focus on the climb, I focus inward. I need to find out what's making that sound. It calls to me, pulls and tugs the way gravity does. If this is a dream, gravity could have the decency to be a sometimes universal constant. No? Fine, then.

What do you have to prove, Ms. Crocker?

My hand slips, I slice it open. I curse, and grip for the next rung. My hand is slick, blood seeps out of the cut, winding in droplets around my wrist. I keep going. It's not about me, it's about what's up there.

What do you have to prove?

That I'm not a selfish person. Mother Mary and Joseph, my hand hurts. It's a reminder with each movement, with each step. It hurts and it throbs. Can you get tetanus in a dream? I have no idea.

How many times have I ignored problems I could have solved?

I wince, and keep climbing. Slipping but never quite falling. If I stop, I could fix my hand. I'm the Maid of Life, surely I can figure out a way to heal it. If I stop, I may not start again. I keep going.

Why didn't I say anything about Roxy's drinking? I knew about it, we all did.

Why didn't I offer to ship Jake somewhere a little less remote? He shouldn't have grown up alone.

I can't really undo either of those things, but maybe I could help.

I can figure out how to help someone with their addiction. I can make sure Roxy doesn't feel alone.

I can keep Jake company, listen to what he has to say. Surely I don't need to monopolize all of Dirk's time.

Speaking of Dirk...

I nearly slip again. I know what's making that sound. Dirk is making that sound. This is his dream bubble. This is his experience. I climb faster.

I get to the top, and haul myself up, over the sill of the window. I tumble clumsily into it. Oops. Ow.

It's dark, but I can see Dirk, in the light of a dozen monitors. Huddled on the floor. Alone, dozens of paper clippings around him. I see images of his brother. Roxy's mother. The scattered remains of robots amongst the papers. Dirk is holding more clippings, so tightly that if I move them, they'll tear.

He's sobbing.

It's the weirdest sound I've ever heard, half-siren, half-child's misery. I don't think I've ever seen him cry before, or heard him express anything more than anger or absent disinterest. I wonder about that. I wasn't expecting him to be a bouquet of emotions, but this...

It sounds like he's suffocating, that he can't get all of the tears out and all the air in. He rocks back and forth. He's not wearing a shirt. As I get closer, I can see things, stuck in his back.

Plugs, like Space Marines, or Ghosts. Black cords snake out of them, leading to the monitors. They aren't just blank, they're telling me things. Heart rate, breathing, brain activity. Emotions.

Emotions?

I go to wipe my hand on my pants. The cut is gone. The blood is dried and the cut is gone. The angry throbbing is a dull, unimportant ache.

“Dirk.”

A world died around Dirk and there was nothing he could do about it. Most of it had died before he'd even been born. Or, crashed. Stupid, ridiculous ectobiological rigamarole. Gently, I nudge the papers out of the way, and put my hand on his shoulder.

He feels cold and smooth. Metallic. This close, I can see worked joints and plugs. The hands that grip the papers are finely tooled, articulate.

Fake. Inhuman.

I kneel down in front of him, I run my hands along his arms. He's shivering. I rub my hands along his arms, leaving flaked blood on one of them.

“Dirk. Look at me.”

He looks, his eyes are wide and afraid. Orange, like his text. His irises are little interlocking pieces. I can see the cracks.

I can see the cracks.

“Dirk, this isn't real.”

“They're gone.” His voice is cracked too, afraid. So afraid. It's intense and raw. Underscored with something mechanical.

“Who, Dirk?”

He shoves the papers at me. I pick them up.

The picture looks like something from one of the Dersite rags. Roxy. Dead. Sprawled out on the floor. A scattering of bottles around her, but what killed her is the hole in her chest. Shot dead while drunk. My stomach lurches and my heart stops.

It's not real.

The next one is Jake. Torn to pieces, like Grandpa Crocker, but messier. The cuts are too clean and neat to be an animal. Just in the corner of the picture, triangular glasses, pieces of metal. The combat robot. Out of control and dangerous.

It's not real, they're alive.

“Dirk, it's not real.”

“Why can't I die?”

The question is like a punch to the chest. He shifts, the coiling cords move around him. More monitors light up. Someone is coming. Something is coming.

“Dirk, you need to wake up. This isn't real, they're not dead. You're not alone.”

“I'm always alone. I'm always too far away.”

“No. There wasn't anything you could have done.” I cup his cheeks in my hands, making him look at me. Meeting the swirling emotion within. “Because this isn't real. It's a manifestation of your psyche. It's what you're afraid of.”

“How?”

“Dream bubbles.”

“I don't dream.”

So much for electric sheep. “You don't dream?”

“I don't dream. I was always awake. Derse, Earth. I switched between them. When that wasn't enough, I made AR.”

“You made AR for Roxy, as I understand it.”

“I blew her off. I couldn't deal with her. I should have. I made her sick.”

“Roxy is lonely, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Roxy is also persistent and aggressive.”

He stares at me. I brush my thumb against his cheek, and scritch behind his ear. He seems to neither like or dislike it.

“The thing is, everyone needs space, sometimes. Everyone needs time. That doesn't make you a bad person, but you do need to be honest about it.”

“Space. Time.”

“Yes.”

“We don't have either. They aren't here yet.”

“Is that a joke?” I smile.

His mouth twitches. “No.”

“Okay, then.”

The monitors light up, and there's more of them, a full room. Something is coming. Something dark.

“Dirk.”

“Jane?”

“You need to wake up.”

“I don't know how.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I can help you.”

“Okay,” he agrees. I let him go, I back up a little.

Sometimes, healing is about gently nurturing someone through their problems. Sometimes, healing is about ripping off the bandaid.

I haul back and punch him in the face. My hand screams, and--

I jerk awake, my hand stinging. There's a crash, a book falls off my desk. I was looking at recipes before I fell asleep, fell into the dream bubble.

I look down at my hand. There's a scar on it, thin, long-healed. My arms, especially my hands, ache.

I close my eyes and sigh. I'm never sleeping again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jake is concerned, Dirk makes breakfast, and Jane and Roxy roleplay their characters' first mutual kiss.

\-- golgothasTerror begins pestering gutsyGumshoe at 9:23 am --

GT: Janey? Top of the morning. Have a bit of a question for you.  
GG: Sure, Jake. What's up?  
GT: It's about, well, it's about Dirk.  
GG: I see. What seems to be the problem?  
GT: Is he treating you alright? Living at your house and all.  
GG: We're fine. We actually get along as well as can be expected. Why?  
GT: Maybe I have different expectations. Never mind.  
GG: Jake.  
GT: Well, he...  
GT: He's a bit forceful, isn't he?  
GG: He's intense and very focused, I've noticed.  
GT: Ah, so that's normal?  
GG: It's normal for Dirk. Not everyone is like that.  
GT: I see.  
GG: Is this related to what happened last night?  
GT: *nervous laughter* Ah, did he... talk about that?  
GG: Maybe not the way you're thinking about. Why don't you tell me what happened, and I'll tell you what I think.  
GT: Well, he came over.  
GG: Right, he mentioned he was going out to see you. He woke me up this morning destroying the defenses he set up around my house.  
GT: ...he did what?  
GG: Defenses. Around my house. You were saying.  
GT: Right. We watched a movie. We'd been promising to watch the SbaHJ movies together.  
GG: Of course.  
GT: Wonderful stuff. Really profound. During the movie, and after, he wanted to hold hands, to touch.  
GG: That sounds reasonable so far, did it bother you?  
GT: Well, no, that's what it's all about, isn't it?  
GG: So long as it doesn't feel like it's going too fast.  
GG: That's good.  
GT: It was, it was... at first, but he was very... intense. Like it was the only thing he wanted to do. Not even breathe. I thought I was going to suffocate.  
GG: That sounds intense. Dirk is an intense person. It's intimidating. When I'm teaching him how to cook, I feel like he's trying to scrape back the layers on my hands so he doesn't miss anything.  
GT: ...you're teaching him how to cook? I didn't know that.  
GG: Oh. I guess he didn't mention it during your lengthy conversations.  
GT: No, he doesn't talk about you at all.  
GG: I see. Jake, I need to go.  
GT: Alright|

\-- gutsyGumshoe has ceased pestering golgothasTerror at 9:47 am --

\-- 

I cannot believe him.

I cannot believe Dirk Strider.

I'm going to wring his complicated yet vulnerable neck!

I march downstairs, muttering angrily. I stub my toe on a corner, and the swearing takes a slightly more pained tint. I pound on the door to Dirk's study.

“Kitchen,” I hear, faintly.

I snarl, and stalk to the kitchen, through the swinging doors. “Dirk, we need to--”

Dirk isn't wearing his glasses. They're up on his head, taming his pointy, white-blond hair. They flicker on and off, AR speaking so only Dirk can hear him. His face is bruised. He's squinting at a piece of paper.

A carton of eggs is sitting on the counter top. Butter, salt, pepper, a loaf of bread.

“--talk. What are you doing?” I ask, though the question seems obvious.

“You could have slept a little longer, so I'd be done.”

“I don't think I'll ever sleep again.”

“Been there, done that,” Dirk said. “I'm making breakfast.”

[Good morning, Jane,] Dirk's AR types to me through my glasses.

[Good morning, AR,] I reply. I sit down at the table. “You're making breakfast?”

“Yeah. Maybe you can explain this.”

“Certainly.” I don't want to point out that eggs are probably one of the easiest things ever to cook. I wasn't expecting this.

“What does 'season to taste' mean?”

I blink. “Oh. Well, different people have different preferences and tolerances for spices. Salt, pepper, some people like a little paprika.”

“But there's no measurement.”

“No. There's no exact measurement for taste.” Or accounting for it. “You just have to experiment and see what you like best, a little at a time until it feels right.”

Dirk frowns. I can't help but remember how expressive he was in the dream bubble. “How do you **know**? What if you add too much and it tastes bad?”

“You laugh it off, make a note, and move on.”

His frown deepens. “It's a mistake.”

“It is, yes.” I cup my cheek and rest my elbow on the table. “Are you afraid of making mistakes?”

“I'm not afraid of anything.” The response is a little too fast. Too defensive.

“Last night's dream bubble indicates otherwise.”

“That doesn't count, it wasn't real.” Dirk sets the paper down. “You could just tell me what you want.”

“I could tell you what I want,” I concede, and start to smile.

He raises an eyebrow. “So tell me what you want, what you really, really want.”

“I can't believe your grimdark future still has the Spice Girls.”

“Pop culture moves in mysterious ways.” His eyes are orange, like in the dream, but not as interlocking pieces. Just normal eyes. As normal as you get with citrine-coloured eyes. Tangerine. Lightish orange. I need to stop.

“So?”

“Alright. Make six eggs, so there's enough for both of us. Twenty millilitres of milk while the egg is still liquid. One point two five grams of salt, evenly distributed. Two point five grams of ground black pepper, also evenly distributed. You remember how long to cook them, don't you?”

“Yes,” Dirk says. AR flickers on and off, and he frowns at it, but says nothing aloud.

“Two point five grams of paprika, sprinkled evenly over the surface. Two pieces of white toast, cut on the diagonal, buttered sides touching. Serve with a cup of black coffee, two sugars.”

Dirk nods with each new instruction, and I hope it's correct. I just use 'until it feels right'. I suppose, if I'm not afraid of making mistakes, I shouldn't fear Dirk's either. He turns to work. As he hunches, I notice the way his shirt sticks out. Dark shadows under white cloth that shift as he mixes.

I frown. “Dirk, is there something on your back?”

[Dirk has plugs,] AR tells me. [Along his spine.]

[He what?!]

[Dirk has plugs, it lets him directly interface with machines.] Dirk seems to be ignoring the question, or simply letting AR answer for him. [The dream bubble was artistically different, but not fictitious.]

[Does Roxy have plugs?]

[No, because Dirk modified himself. Roxy doesn't need the kind of connection Dirk wants.]

[Let me guess, instantaneous?]

[You're a sharp one, Crocker.]

I rub the bridge of my nose. Dirk Strider, everyone. He follows my cooking instructions perfectly. I can see him measuring and stirring and adding from where I'm sitting. The smell is heavenly.

“Why didn't you tell Jake about your cooking lessons?” I ask as he serves me. I poke my fork into one of the fluffy clouds of yellow and white and take a bite.

Mm. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Why would I?” Dirk asks as he sits down. He starts to eat, and his eyes widen. “What is this?”

“Paprika and pepper and salt,” I say. “Did you want to keep it a secret?”

“It... bites.” He seems to find this fascinating, and I smile. “It's not a secret. I just don't see a reason to tell anyone about it. I don't talk about what I do with Jake or Roxy, why would I talk about the things I do with you.”

[Separate files,] AR adds. [Keeping it organized.]

“I see. I tend to talk to people about all of the things I do,” I say, between bites. Fantastic, absolutely fantastic. “And the things you learn are always transferable.”

“Like making breakfast.”

“Exactly like making breakfast. Do you like it?” I indicate the eggs. “It's spicier than you're used to.”

“I don't hate it,” Dirk says, but he seems to be thinking about it seriously.

“A start. So what do we do today?”

“I'm going to have AR break your crypts apart so you can break them down into grist. That will be a massive amount to boost us towards our building needs.”

“To build the robot, and then build up our houses to get to the gates.”

“Yeah,” Dirk blinks, frowns, and takes a gulp of juice. “My mouth is burning.”

“Spice sneaks up on you, but you build a tolerance. Eat some of your toast, it'll help.” I take a bite of my own. Mm, buttery. “We don't really need the gates to get to one another.”

“No, but we do to unlock the worlds. We're not just going to sit around waiting for some losers from another Session to join us. We're going to get shit done. We're going to do everything we can before they get here, so they'll see that we're all competent. That we only need them because this game forced the issue. We--” He looks at me, frowning. “Why are you smiling like that?”

I **am** smiling. “I appreciate your ambition. Are you going out today?”

“Maybe,” he says, and crunches on his toast. “Why?”

“Because I'd like you to make sure your defenses allow me to walk around. I've got plans of my own.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I think I want a garden.”

\--

TG: so guess who came 2 visit  
TG: go on guess  
GG: Santa Claus.  
TG: hahaha no  
TG: distri  
GG: Really?  
TG: yup  
TG: wanted to hang out  
TG: does the inquisitor kno nething about it  
GG: Why do you think I would know anything about it?  
TG: oooh u diiiiid  
GG: I can't say ;)  
TG: >:O  
GG: So, if Dirk is there, does that mean you don't have time to play?  
TG: nop  
TG: we doin this  
TG: we doin this right nao

\-- Start Log -- 

Inquisitor_Juan “It's over, Eldar. We don't have to draw this out any further.”

Princess_Miahia “Do you think I'm just going to give myself up to a Mon-keigh? Don't be foolish.”

Inquisitor_Juan “Your race is dying, your people divided. There is no reason for you to die to... pointless violence. Tell me what I need to know. This doesn't need to hurt.”

Princess_Miahia “You'll have to earn that privilege, 'Inquisitor'.”

((Now?))  
((a bit, then she gets away))  
((Right.))

* Inquisitor_Juan steps forward, his dark brow furrowing with annoyance. She was trapped against the wall, and it would take little effort to arrest her. He reaches out, his heart beating fast, pinning one wrist to the wall.

* Princess_Miahia 's breath catches. It would take but a thought to teleport away, another thought to flay his skin off for daring to touch her, an Eldar princess, in such a presumptuous manner, but then... oh.

* Inquisitor_Juan leans in, opening his mouth to deliver the Litany of Hate and simply... stopped. Her lips look so soft, so perfect, and the way her green eyes search his face steal the words from his lips. Carefully, he closes the distance between them, and kisses her. Beneath that cool, aloof veneer was warmth, sweet warmth, and his lips press in eagerly, and the hand on her wrist loosens.

* Princess_Miahia wants the human to touch her again. It wasn't as though she needed him to hold her in place. She's arrested by his warmth, the passion behind all of that rigid control and duty to a dying Imperium. Part of her wants to see what it would be like to feel him lose that tight grip, even as he grasps her.

* Inquisitor_Juan inhales sharply, and his hand moves to her waist, drawing her in closer. He feels her tense up, and pauses. “Eldar?”

Princess_Miahia “Another time, perhaps, human.”

Inquisitor_Juan “What?”

* Princess_Miahia uses her psychic gift to teleport herself away. She can see him looking around, looking angry and... hurt. She takes a deep breath, putting her hand to her heart. She must go, but she will see him again. She **needs** to see him again.

((*high five*))  
((*the highest of fives*))


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk is keeping secrets, Jane works on her garden, and there is another dream bubble.

TT: So, are you going to tell her?  
TT: Tell her what?  
TT: You know.  
TT: You obviously know more about me than I do, so why don't you tell me?  
TT: We know the same amount about one another, so all this is doing is prolonging the ever-pathetic habit you've developed of talking to yourself.  
TT: I want to run some tests first. There were mistakes in earlier models. Inexplicable issues I want to identify before I leave Jane alone with it.  
TT: It won't be able to cook Jane breakfast. Not to her precise specifications. I doubt it could even crack and separate an egg correctly.  
TT: Can we not do this?  
TT: That was awfully sentimental of you.  
TT: Stop it.  
TT: Perhaps even... human?

\-- timeausTestified has blocked timeausTestified (Reason: You're being ridiculous. Stop.) --

\--

Two weeks.

Not that I'm counting. Not exactly. Marking the time is a thing I do to keep things ordered. Neat. When there's no night or day, when there's no school, no meetings, nothing to do but what we decide to do, hours slip by. Days. This keeps things organized.

It also makes me wonder about the robot.

Dirk is spending more time outside of the study now. Sometimes he goes for walks around my world, staring at the trees. He goes out, he visits Roxy or Jake, or goes to his own world, taking the grinder with him.

He's always home in time for dinner.

At the beginning of all of this, I assumed that he enjoyed the free meals, but there's more to it than that. He helps clean. He's learning to cook. He asks questions. When I explained about the garden, he stood by, still, watching everything with one hand on his sword, as though birds were likely to swoop down and steal my seedlings.

My poor, pathetic little seedlings.

Plants need sunlight. They need water and good soil. They need pollination.

Where do I even begin with what I'm missing to get this to work?

Nothing is alive on this world except myself and Dirk. There are no worms or insects. No birds. The trees are made of crystal, they're silent and lifeless. Nothing is alive here. Logically, something had to have lived here previously, when my consorts still lived. They died and the rotted and then they became bones, the skulls I've found in my exploration. Rot doesn't exist without bacteria. Therefore, something was alive.

Nothing is alive now. It's an eerie stillness that makes me want to yell and shout and laugh, just to banish the godawful silence. I've learned to tell when Dirk is around, even at his most secluded, versus when he isn't. When I'm by myself, I feel well and truly alone.

I'm beginning to understand more of Dirk's particulars. When Dirk isn't here, I cling to what human interaction I can get. If Dirk is with Jake, I talk to Roxy; if he's with Roxy, I talk to Jake. I'm beginning to see sides to both of them that I hadn't truly noticed before, because I was busy trying to balance everyone together. I've started taking a Dirk approach. I've started to focus.

Roxy's typing is getting clearer, more consistent. Our roleplaying isn't simply about getting intimacy for her character. It's about world-building, about adventure. I find myself thinking about it, about her, when I otherwise wouldn't. Roxy wants me to enjoy it too, and I'm curious to know what we'll do after the critical moment comes. Start a new adventure? Continue? I'm curious, even as I'm nervous about my role.

Jake likes to talk about himself. Obvious, I know, but it's more than that. Jake talks about himself because he has nothing else to talk about. What does he do, really, other than explore his world and watch movies? He's realized that I don't particularly want to hear about his adventures with Dirk, so he only brings him up when he has a concern. Uncertainty. I wonder about that a great deal. I wonder how he interacts with Dirk, what... other things they do.

I know what Dirk and I do.

We talk about cooking and food. We talk about the house, and how we can change and alter it to working better to support the structure that will lead us to the next gate. We've fixed the hole in the walls and created a specific room for the Game's furniture, expanding it and upgrading it as we go. We talk about what can be used as grist, and what's strictly necessary.

We talk about where all that water is coming from and where it might be going. We talk about the crystal trees, and spent an afternoon trying to see if they can be used as musical instruments, or at least, a back beat.

They cannot. It was horrible. Don't make me elaborate.

We compare robotics to chemistry. Sometimes, he talks about something his brother did. Often, I talk about my father. He's encouraged me, told me that he may still be alive. I want to believe that, because if Dirk Strider is willing to bank on uncertainty, it seems ridiculous to reject it.

It's strange what spending so much time with him is doing to my mind.

We talk about the garden.

There's no bacteria, but we've discussed extracting it from ourselves to see if we can start the chain. There's no sunlight, but Dirk's rigged up some lights, and with experimentation, the sun rises and sets over one section, while we work on non-light requiring plants in another section. We've tested the water coming from the balloons. It's safe enough, we diverted some for irrigation. The taps always run here, though. The next project is robo-bees, which Dirk promises is an easier prospect than Sebastian Mk.II.

The soil is dead. It doesn't want living things in it.

I've always been able to evaluate a good growing spot from a bad one. If the land is dead or dying, if it's abundant. My father never knew why our lawn used to grow so fiercely. How it was more fun to roll around on the grass and feel it grow than it was to bounce up and down on that little deathtrap.

Not the tire swing, though. Tire swings are scientifically proven to own.

Growing the plants is difficult. Even to plant them, I had to work the soil. Tools didn't work, only digging my fingers in and forcing it to yield did the trick. Even then, I had to coax the soil and seeds both to start growing.

It was exhausting and frustrating. Less productive than working with Dirk. I can usually get him to not-smile once a day. He's picked up when I'm frustrated but don't want to say anything, and brings me coffee.

Some of this I keep quiet. I talk about the things we do together to Roxy, to keep her in the loop. To keep her involved. Not the private stuff, though. The Jane-and-Dirk stuff stays between us.

It's quiet. My mind keeps wandering, and that's frustrating.

Did you know that when left entirely alone, with no possibility of human contact, humans show signs of permanent brain damage after fifteen minutes.

I'm **not** **alone**.

I'm going out to the garden. I collect up my tools and go to the back door. There's a feeling of... anticipation. Am I getting closer? Is that what the world is telling me? I open the door and step out...

Oh, hell.

\--

\-- timeausTestified begins pestering timeausTestified at 12:04 am --

TT: Dirk.

\-- timeausTestified cannot receive your message, you are blocked -- 

TT: Oh, bullshit. We both know that you can't actually block me.

\-- timeausTestified cannot receive your message, you are blocked -- 

TT: This is stupid. Look, I'll make this fast. We're heading straight for another dream bubble. By my observations, the dream bubbles have been from one of three individuals: myself, yours, and Jane's.

\-- timeausTestified cannot receive your message, you are blocked -- 

TT: Roxy doesn't seem to have them, probably because she's a Void player, and Jake, I have no idea. Maybe half of those movies we watch are actually his dreams.

\-- timeausTestified cannot receive your message, you are blocked -- 

TT: Yes, yes, keep it up, like some kind of mentally dysfunctional game of chicken with yourself. I'm not sure whose it is, but between the two of us, we have some of the most dangerous memory-dreams out there. Jane's already been hurt once, in the dream. I know she didn't tell you, but it happened. I saw it happen while you were freaking out. She still has the scar on her hand.

\-- timeausTestified cannot receive your message, you are blocked -- 

TT: Fine, keep it up. There's one last, important part to this though: if you die in the dream bubble, you die for real. No more extra lives.  
TT: What?!  
TT: I thought so.  
TT: Just tell me where she is, shitlord.  
TT: You already know the way.

\-- timeausTestified has ceased pestering timeausTestified at 12:07 am --

\--

There are so many people and I feel so totally alone.

The ballroom seems huge and vast, with too many people to fill in the gaps. I know some of these people by reputation, others by name. Investors, high-level managers. The wealthy elite.

I remember this.

My father has his hand on my shoulder protectively, and I have a new, fancy dress. It's dark red, like the CrockerCorp logo. It has puffy gauze to hide the spaghetti straps holding it up.

No ten year old daughter of mine is wearing a sleeveless dress.

It would probably fall right down even if I had. I wasn't exactly shapely as a child.

I remember this.

Adults drift in and out of my personal space. Men, tall, handsome men take my hand and kiss it. I remember being flattered, excited. Now I can't help but remember the way their eyes twinkled and wonder if they were mocking me. Or wondering about courting me in ten years time.

Too bad, adults. In ten years, you'll all be gone. CrockerCorp is a sham company, covering for an evil alien overlord. All will love her and despair. Behold, ye mighty.

I remember the light catching on everything. The lightbulb candles, the decorations. I remember pointing things out to my father. I remember the disbelief some people had on their faces as they found out the dark red liquid in their cups was grape juice and not wine.

No ten year old daughter of mine is drinking alcohol.

That makes me think of Roxy, and I wince. I don't remember the faint shadow from up above, dimming the glitter. I was too young, too excited. Too naive. I trusted that the world loved me as much as I loved it.

I remember that my father was distracted by a friend of his, a blonde woman, daringly wearing a pink scarf with a black dress. I remember wandering away from him, into a clear space.

I remember the glass of grape juice in my hands, the wine flute delicate and perfect. I promised myself I wouldn't drop it.

I remember the--

Wood splinters and glass crashes down next to me. I jump back.

No one seems to notice. Of course, it's a dream. These people are props. The blonde woman and my father remain locked in conversation. The loud man in round sunglasses remains animatedly discussing something with a wide, adoring audience.

The wine flute slips from my hand and breaks on the floor.

A body falls in two pieces at my feet, the impact sending blood over my dress. The dress seems to drink it in. Ominous.

A moment later, a second body falls, though this one is whole, and didn't so much fall as land like a cat. A sword in one hand, stained with blood. A white suit jacket, a starkly visible spatter of blood along one sleeve. A white shirt, a black tie. Black pants, black shoes. Triangular sunglasses, tinted with red.

“Dirk,” I say.

He grabs my hand and pulls me. He's shorter – no, I'm taller – and hauls me from the ballroom. My shoulder aches. I wonder if it will start to bleed. No one notices. The gunshot hasn't gone off, it isn't their time to notice.

Dirk takes me out into the hotel, moving silently and quickly, looking for something. Most of the hotel is empty, but in one place, a maid is cleaning a room. Dirk slips inside, hiding from her as she goes about her task. She is, or was, human. Now she is a dream drone.

I feel bad for her.

He leaves me out in the hall until she's gone, and then pulls me inside. There's only one bed in this room. A desk, a chair, a fireplace that's turned on and off by electrical switch. A small bathroom. I get myself a cup of water and drink it with shaking hands. My shoulder hurts. It hurts so much.

I put my hand to it to rub at it, and it comes away covered in blood. It's happening anyway.

“Dirk,” I say, shakily.

“You're safe now,” Dirk says. I can hear him moving around the room, looking for threats. I look in the mirror. My face, wide-eyed, paler with fear. My puffy, gauzy shoulder, sticky and soaked in blood.

I remember how loud it was. The gunshot. I remember the smell, the feeling.

I remember how much it hurt. I remember falling.

“Dirk,” I say again. “I need your help.”

I can't get the dress off one-handed. I can't feel my arm at all.

He pokes his head in the door. Goes pale – paler – when he sees the blood.

“I stopped him!” he cries. “He never got the shot off!”

“You can't stop what's already happened.” I feel numb. “Help me get this off, get towels to staunch the bleeding.”

I remember my father shouting. Distantly, quietly. Dirk is shouting now, tearing my dress off, seeing the wound. I still have the scars. We all carry scars. He gets the towels, folding one up and pressing it to my shoulder.

“Exit wound,” I mumble. My lips are turning blue. My heart beat is erratic.

I remember people taking out phones. Calling for help. Trying to take pictures. I remember the sound of someone hitting the floor as my father punches the first person who tries. No one attempts it after that.

I remember her voice. Not exactly kind, but sure. Certain. I'm going to survive this. A little stronger, a little angrier. A little less innocent.

My knees buckle, Dirk catches me. He pulls me into his lap as he sits and holds the towel tightly against my shoulder. I lean into him as feeling goes away, like lights going out one by one.

I want to tell him what she told me but I can't. I can't make my mouth move.

I remember the sirens blaring, the doors crashing open.

I remember the firm voices, and the men and women cutting through the crowd to get to me.

I remember that none of it matters.

I remember dying.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk and Jane discuss matters of great importance.

TG: it's her.  
TT: I know it's her.  
TG: is that stuff you said bullshit?  
TT: No. She lives. I know she does.  
TG: she just died.  
TT: You go back to rapping, I'll go back to seeing Fate with accuracy.  
TG: bluh bluh bluh shut up.  
TT: She's the Maid. She needs to live.  
TG: I could go back and |  
TT: No. Absolutely not.  
TG: you know I don't care.  
TT: I care. Stop being stupid.  
TG: so what do we do now?  
TT: We wait for the resurrection.  
TG: might as well wait for the Rapture.  
TT: To quote, 'bluh bluh bluh shut up'.

\--

I was only dead for seventeen seconds.

I remember a golden room as beautiful as that ballroom. As innocent as I used to be.

I can't remember the crying, the soft pleading not to give up. I can hear it now, though.

I can remember the lights coming back on and the room fading. I never had normal dreams after that. I slept and dreamt of Prospit. I saw Jake. I fell in love with Jake. I met the Prospitians. They promised me I'd always be safe. It was kind of them, but I didn't believe them. I was never going to be safe.

As the lights come on, I can feel again. The dull ache in my arm, wound long gone and healed. Dampness on my neck. Points of contact.

I take a sharp breath.

Did you know that thing about heroic shoulder wounds is utter bullshit? There's an important artery in there. Nick it, and you'll bleed out in minutes.

I did. I bled out and I died. Then I came back.

I was only dead for seventeen seconds.

Seventeen seconds is enough. No more public events without bodyguards. No more pretty dresses with puffy sleeves.

Baby's first Kevlar vest.

Physiotherapy for my arm. Debates about self-defense lessons. Low, angry conversations between my father and mysterious people on the phone.

Stay inside, Jane, where it's safe.

I stir a little, raising my head. I bump my nose against Dirk's cheek. Damp. Salty.

“I'm alive.” My voice is a croak. Not The Croak. Just a croak.

“What the actual fuck?” His voice sounds broken. “What the hell just happened?”

“Do you remember how I never believed Roxy that CrockerCorp sent those assassins?”

Gingerly, he pulls the towel away. No blood. Just old scars, a spiderweb of damage. I was going to have it fixed when I was a little older. When I didn't have to use it as a cautionary tale.

“Yeah, drove her nuts.”

“It wasn't that I didn't believe people were trying to kill me. I knew that. I just knew it wasn't CrockerCorp. They had no reason to do it. They could have killed me at any time. They didn't need mailbox bombs.”

“You were dead.”

“Yes.” I don't need to move, not right now. “For seventeen seconds.”

“Yeah, that's an accurate number.” Now that he doesn't have to hold the towel, he winds his arm around my waist. Protective. It's shaking. He's shaking.

“That's what the doctors told me. I couldn't exactly count. That's when I first woke up on Prospit. I never slept normally after that.”

“Like me. I was awake on Derse for a long time.”

It's kind of cold on the floor. Or maybe that's the grave chill talking. Haha. Ha. No, that's definitely the fact that I'm mostly naked.

Right, not shapely at ten. No reason to wear a bra. There's two reasons now. Two kind of big ones.

“Dirk?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm cold.”

“Shit.” He tries to work his jacket off without actually letting me go. Fails.

“Why don't we go into the other room?”

“Sure.”

Now he has to let me go. He does it, reluctantly. I stand up shakily, blood flowing through me again. I flex my hands and head out to the bed, to sit on it. Dirk follows after a moment. He's got his jacket off, and drapes it around my shoulders.

He's still shaking.

I reach out and take his hand. “I'm alive. I'm not gone.” I hesitate. “You aren't alone.”

“I can handle it,” he mutters, and then... he does something. I can feel it, like the blade of his sword, coming down. Not externally, but internally.

It's wrong. I know it's wrong. I can feel it's wrong. I do the only thing I can under the circumstances.

I punch him in the heart.

“Ow, what the hell?!”

Shit, my **hand**. He's probably literally made of metal. “Don't do that. Whatever you're doing, don't.”

“Jane, it's my business.”

“The hell it is.” I look over him, searching. AR runs in the background, quiet. “This is what you did after your dream bubble, isn't it?”

He doesn't answer. He's quiet. He presses his hand to his heart. Maybe I hurt him. **Good**. I'm hurt too.

“What are you doing to yourself?” No answer. “AR, what is he doing to himself?”

“Shut up,” Dirk warns, before AR's cursor can move. “I'm dealing with it.”

Intuition, and some of my extra-curricular reading falls into place. “You're cutting them out. Your emotions. Dirk, you **need** those!”

“No, I don't!”

“Yes, you do!” I insist, grabbing for his hands again. There's a brief struggle as he tries to evade, but considering his usual speed, he's practically letting me win, and I do, gripping his fingers tightly. They're long and thin and bony.

In need of feeding, my father would say. I'm trying, Dad. I'm trying.

“What good does it do to flip out when things go bad?” Dirk asks, giving my hands one brief tug. I feel the jacket slip off. Whatever. “To absolutely lose it when people need me the most?”

“If you can handle what you're feeling, you don't flip out as badly,” I say. “Suppressing your emotions means you don't know how to deal with them when they come. You can't control yourself.”

“So it's better that they're gone.”

“ **No**.” He starts, a little, at the force of it. “It means that you're human. That's what being human is all about--”

He tenses up, he hunches. I remember that he has plugs, actual plugs, and a robotic brain clone.

“Dirk, you **are** human.”

“Being human hurts.”

I laugh a little. “Yes, it does. It hurts a lot, but it's also pretty great. Being human is about fighting pain and sharing joy. It's about getting angry, and sad, and being afraid. It's about caring for others. It's about **feeling**. People feel.”

He stares at me. I keep my expression as encouraging as possible. Then I shiver, because I'm cold.

“Hang on.”

He tugs his hands out of mine, and takes his dress shirt off. I put this one on, he helps me do it up. His hands are shaking. Mine are shaking. We're getting ridiculous now.

“Is it safe to stay here?” he asks.

I consider, and then nod. “Nothing else happens, and we'll just drift out of the dream bubble.”

“Then sleep here. Dying can mess you up.”

“I never did ask what it felt like to mail your severed head to someone.”

“Weird,” Dirk says. “I was pretty desperate. We'd have all died if we hadn't gone in, no matter how. We needed to close the prototyping chain.”

“That was a brave thing you did.” He moves off the bed. I pull the covers up, and slip under them. The sheets are cold, but they'll warm up. “You saved Roxy and I.”

“You were dead then. Again. I didn't think you'd come back.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I know that my dream self was killed and then came back,” I say. “Maybe I have extra lives, like a cat.”

“Don't do that,” he says. He goes across the room, to sit on the couch, sword across his knees.

“What, die?” I ask. He nods. “Trust me, I don't plan these things.”

“Here I thought you planned your days.” That not-smile. He's trying, I can see the corner of his mouth twitch.

“I don't tend to pen that in.” I curl up on the too-soft pillow. “Goodnight, Dirk.”

“Goodnight, Jane.”

\--

TT: Well, that was traumatizing.  
TT: YOU ASSHOLE. YOU SAID SHE WOULD REALLY DIE. WHAT THE FUCK?!  
TT: First off, we're the same person. So don't yell at yourself. Asshole.  
TT: Second, I thought she would die. And, in fact, she did. Life powers, yo. It's a non-clown related miracle.  
TT: She didn't need me at all. You lied.  
TT: She absolutely did, just like she needed you to revive her in-game. I have no ability to judge the exact limits of her powers, BECAUSE THAT WOULD INVOLVE JANE BEING DEAD AGAIN.  
TT: She was bleeding all over me and now the blood's gone. What the hell kind of dream bubbles are these?!  
TT: I believe they're created by the horror-terrors to fuck with your collective shit.  
TT: Urgh.  
TT: Though now is a good time to point out that she's right. You're not a robot, you're a human. Humans have feelings.  
TT: Oh, now I'm the human and you're the robot.  
TT: I wish you could see how much of a tool we're being. *I* want to be properly human, but I'm a person trapped in a pair of shades. *You* are trying **not** to be properly human because you can't handle your shit.  
TT: Then help me.  
TT: Excuse me?  
TT: Help me handle my shit.  
TT: Obviously, we've fucked this up so badly that Jane is more worried about what's going on in our half-meat, half-mechanical brains than the fact that she got shot and died around the chronological time that we were crying over dead robots.  
TT: You like to say we're in this together. So help me.  
TT: Dirk, I'd actually love to, as much as I can feel love or pleasure.  
TT: Spare me.  
TT: But I don't know how. I don't know how to fix us. I don't know how to make us better. I. Just. Don't. Know.  
TT: Shit.  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: By the way, now we can confirm that you're so gay that rainbows run through your veins.  
TT: I don't like that word, you know that. Why?  
TT: Because there's a naked girl over there and you're on the couch playing with your sword.

\-- timeausTestified has blocked timeausTestified (Reason: Fucking inappropriate, man.) --

\--

Dirk is dozing when I wake up. The dream bubble is fading. Everything is weird and transparent. I'm wearing pajamas, and not Dirk's shirt. Dirk's hand is still on his sword, gripping it tightly. Even his AR is resting, or I think it is. His glasses are dark, inert.

What are they dreaming about?

I slip out of bed. The jacket is gone, but Dirk's still shirtless. He's skinny. Bony. Too tall. His features look softer when he's asleep. Less sharp, younger. Less as though he has everything under his tight control.

No wonder Jake--

Stop that. I hunt around, and enough of the room is still real to make a pot of coffee. Bad coffee, instant and poor quality, but it's good enough for mornings. It's bitter. I wince as I drink it.

My shoulder doesn't hurt. I peek at it, checking under my top. It's totally healed, and healed for a long time. I'm back to normal. I look at the scar on my palm. Thin and faded.

If I'd died here, would I have been truly gone?

Can I **actually** die? Where's the cut off point? Will cancer kill me? Incineration? Age? How much trauma can I sustain before my body can't handle it any more? Do I get a choice?

Suddenly, the notion of hurting yourself just because it's something you can control seems frighteningly sane. I push it aside.

Self-harm is what Dirk is doing.

Life is about struggle. It is about enduring and persisting. It's about healing trauma and moving forward, not staring backwards.

Life is about being flexible. People lament not getting to do what they wanted to do when they were children, but why is that always a bad thing? As a child, I was ignorant. There was so much I didn't know. Every thing that I didn't know led to a way for me to learn something new, to expand. To change my mind and formulate new opinions.

Life is about friendship and closeness.

Dirk is so still. So calm. Did he hurt himself while I was asleep? Is it right to ask?

Do I have a right to get involved? Is it meddling to offer to help?

What about the people who can't ask for help, people who don't know how to reach out? They never get help and then people just shake their heads and--

“Jane.” Dirk is awake. He stands up, steals the cup from my hands and takes a sip. His expression changes. A grimace. “That's awful.”

“I know.” I'm actually pleased, it means he can distinguish between delicious and disgusting.

“Could we... talk?” He hands the cup back, and emotion plays on his face. No, he didn't cut. I'm relieved, I can't even express how much. “I think I need your help.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane and Dirk invite Roxy and Jake over for movie night, and bad movies cause Dirk to flip out a bit.

GG: So I've been thinking.  
TG: naaaaw  
TG: you?  
GG: Hahaha. Sarcasm doesn't become you, Princess.  
GG: I've been thinking that we might want to have dinner together at some point. All four of us.  
TG: rly?  
TG: finally willing to spread the love out a bit more  
GG: ...I have been sending you codes for my meals.  
TG: i kid i kid  
TG: trust me it is the best thing  
TG: so why now?  
GG: I thought inquisition was my job.  
TG: oh plz  
GG: I think it will be fun, good for all of us. We all lived alone, or mostly alone, and it's been nearly a month since we've gotten into the game. We should spend time with each other.  
TG: ur such a good friend janey :)  
GG: I'm not that good of a friend.  
TG: orly?  
GG: Yes. I'm letting Jake pick our movies.  
TG: noooooooo

\--

Movie night was actually Dirk's idea, during one of our talks.

We don't exactly have sessions, as such. We have life. We have living together and doing things together. Rather than standing around awkwardly near each other, we teach each other. One of the things that I noticed is that Dirk gets defensive when he feels like he's not contributing anything.

I am the proud creator of a hive of robo-bees, and the progenitor of bacteria.

Dirk helped me build the compost heap – affectionately called the 'Crocker of Shit' – for the garden, and AR researched hydroponic gardens until his text turned blue.

His joke, not mine.

So now I have hydroponic gardens and rotting refuse and biological matter and robo-bees.

Dirk smiles more.

They're weird half-smiles, like he isn't sure what to do with all of those underdeveloped facial muscles. They require some prompting. He doesn't do it as often as I do, but I don't have to think about if I should smile or not, or if it's appropriate.

Smiling when you see someone in the morning: appropriate.

Smiling when I slip and fall down the stairs: inappropriate.

I don't care how funny it was, it hurt. Ass.

His cooking is coming along nicely. He makes breakfast every day now. There's an exact and precise pattern to the days that he makes eggs and toast, or pancakes, or french toast. He's getting better at omelets. He's experimenting, and sometimes he makes mistakes. He's learning to laugh at them.

I wonder about the robot.

I've been inside the study a few times, mostly when we've worked together. There's something in the corner, covered by a sheet, too indistinct a shape for me to determine exactly what it is. It must be the robot.

I wonder what it will be like. It's not as though I haven't had bodyguards before. Serious-eyed, serious-faced men and women that watch me for weakness so they can protect me from it.

It makes me think about myself, my habits. I don't walk around expecting the unexpected. I've seen it in Dirk's eyes, in Roxy's, even Jake's. Paranoia and caution. I expect Dirk and AR to be here. I want my father to be here.

Will it watch me silently, not speaking? Will I even see it? There aren't exactly a lot of places to hide. Or perhaps there are, I'm just not thinking of them.

It makes me think about Jake's experience with the duelling robot, the one that came with different settings, the lowest being the most... playful. The least deadly, but the most presumptuous. I'm not sure how Jake missed that it was trying to come onto him for so long.

I wonder if my bodyguard will have similar settings. Do I want it to? Obviously, Dirk was trying to reach out to Jake. He's not doing the same with me, but will it have his quirks? If so, the old ones or the new things he's learned. Will it know how to cook the way Dirk does? Will it experiment and improvise?

Will it stop and stare at nothing randomly, and then hurry off to deal with a new idea? Will it come upstairs to talk to me about it in the early hours, when Roxy and I are roleplaying and I'm trying to make sure his too-sharp eyes don't catch my screen, while Roxy laughs at my shyness?

Will it have his too-straight nose and still features and his weird smile?

Stop it, stop it, **stop it**.

I've spent most of the afternoon preparing for dinner. Dirk is taking care of the watering and technical adjustments. AR has moved Grandpa Crocker to the shed we built to hold our tools and to protect our water controls. We never discussed it, but I feel we'd both agree it's for the best.

Jake's never actually been inside my house before.

Dinner is actually pretty light tonight, because I expect people to be snacking all night. Jake's movie selection is to be a surprise, but the odds are that it won't be very good. Snacks are dried thin slices of apples, and cut fruit and vegetables with various dips. There are also cubes of bread. Popcorn need not apply, as apparently, I don't believe hard enough that popcorn is real.

I don't believe in popcorn, but I do believe in cotton candy.

You see what I did there? Because cotton candy is another name for-- you know what, it wasn't that funny any way.

Dirk is bringing his big TV here through a series of picking up-shrinking-redeploying Sylladex actions and getting it set up, and we've duplicated the couch and eliminated the chairs. Home decoration through alchemy, the newest trend from CrockerCorp... and it probably won't end the world!

That probably wasn't funny either.

Dinner tonight is a spread of sandwiches, and I'm confident that Dirk has enough experience with food now to know what he likes, and there's enough that if he makes a mistake – say, combining all of his favourite flavours into one Franken-Sandwich – that he'll be able to make something a little plainer when it tastes abominable.

Not that that's ever happened. I'm not permitted to speak of 'The First Incident'. Wonk.

Roxy is the first to arrive, in the late afternoon. She breezes in with a squee, and something Dirk apparently doesn't like as he curses softly and she giggles madly.

Roxy is tall too, taller than me, and has the same paleness, the same boniness that Dirk does, though she's better filled out. Her eyes are wide and expressive, a curious shade of pink. Her hair is bobbed and blonde. She likes skirts and scarves and cats. She likes 'hot pronz'.

She's my best friend and I love her to pieces.

“Janey!” she exclaims as she comes into the kitchen and gives me a hug. “Look at all this food! There's only four of us.”

“You've never seen Dirk eat before,” I say, and hug her back tightly. “We've easily got seven or eight.”

“But if this is all for Dirk, where're the bananas?” She waggles her eyebrows.

I giggle.

She giggles.

I giggle some more.

“What are you two laughing about now?” Dirk asks, stepping into the kitchen, and heading towards the bowl of grapes. He grabs a handful of grapes and pops them into his mouth. He sucks at each one individually, then crushes and swallows them.

I've gotten used to it, it's a little odd, but it's not a big deal.

Roxy, on the other hand, watches with rapturous delight, and steps into his blind spot, making several obscene gestures.

I have to stick my head in the fridge to conceal the fact that I'm laughing.

Jake arrives later, while Roxy and Dirk are squabbling over which fruit is the most blatantly suggestive, with movies in one hand, and immediately takes a banana, declaring in his British accent that they're his favourite fruit to eat.

Damnit, Roxy, stop laughing. I don't want to hide in the fridge again.

Then it's dinner time. Jake spends a great deal of time not talking about what we're actually going to watch, and does spend great deal of time talking about himself. His exploration of the ruins on his planet has been extensive, and admittedly, is fascinating. Even while talking about himself, he spins a fascinating yarn.

Dirk hangs on to every word, nodding and listening as he eats his way through a tower sandwich, and even Roxy is enthused. I feel privileged to have him in my house and stupid to have pushed him away all at once. Nothing to be done now. I wouldn't break Dirk's heart.

The rest of that thought lingers, and I push it away firmly.

Roxy talks about her own adventures, and with a little prodding, she tells us that she's stopped drinking. The bottles are gone, their codes lost to the ether. It's all grist now. I've never been so proud of Roxy, and never so pleased about the usefulness of the grinder.

Dirk talks, hesitantly at first, about our projects. Not his or mine, ours. There's a certain glow of pride to that. There's hardly a need to for me to talk at all, other than to be encouraging.

Is this what I'm always like? Encouraging without substance? I wonder about that, but no. Dirk and I share a great deal. We have discussions. I'd rather let Dirk talk than do it myself. I don't need the experience, he does, and he's learning to inflect. Enthuse. He's animated, and sometimes he even gestures. I don't need to add much. I just smile.

When dinner is over, we migrate to the living room. Roxy and I sit on one couch with the pile of pillows, and Jake and Dirk curl up together on the other couch. AR queues up the movie, and turns his own lights down. He skips through the previews, and goes to the main attraction.

Oh, that alleyway, that naked butt.

I know which movie this is.

It's Terminator 1.

No one watches the movie quietly. The movie is old, so the effects are dated. Dirk complains about the technology. I complain about the nonsense. Roxy wolf-whistles at the sex scene. We all watch the final fight with enthusiasm. AR queues up the next one, Terminator 2.

There's an eerie sensation of familiarity when viewing the future, which both Roxy and Dirk complain about. Jake points out they're more like Waterworld, which he owns. Naturally. A pillow is hurled between Team Roxy-Jane and Jake-Dirk. No one wants to watch Kevin Costner drink his own pee.

We settle and watch the second movie. The effects are better. The bad guy from the first movie becomes the hero of the second. Linda Hamilton is incredible. Edward Furlong's voice breaks at least twice, but Dirk says he reminds him of the stories about his brother. Roxy complains about the hacking.

Dirk murmurs the line, the wonderful line, that fate is what you make. That nothing is certain.

We laugh at Schwarzenegger's deadpan, lines that would go on to be quoted for a long time. There's excitement and tension. There is sadness as he dies. Jake mentions that he actually becomes a politician, the Governator. Dirk points out that celebrities often make terrible politicians, and Roxy nods. It's still too far away for us.

“We don't really need to watch the other two,” I say.

“Seems like a strange place to leave off, right in the middle,” Dirk says. “Why stop?”

“Well, the other two are... less good.”

“How bad can they be?”

“Not bad at all,” Jake says, quickly. “You'll like it.”

Fine, fine.

Next is Terminator 3. It is met with... dismay. Disbelief. Roxy actually throws something at the screen during the scene with the cop. Dirk frowns, looks troubled. It's getting quite a bit later now, but there's one more.

Terminator 4.

This starts out better, but takes turns for the absurd. Dirk seems more withdrawn, uneasy. AR sends me messages privately, both out of concern and genuinely offended about the treatment of AIs. I try to reassure him. It's just stupid fiction. Emphasis on stupid, and fiction.

The ending is particularly upsetting to Dirk.

“What happened to fate being what you make?!” he says, sounding genuinely angry. “If time is so flexible, why couldn't John Connor die?!”

I extract myself from the pillow-Roxy fort and make my way over to him. I take his hands and make him look at me. Both Roxy and Jake look startled, but Dirk focuses on me. We've done this before.

“It's a movie,” I tell him. “It's fiction. Bad fiction, but fiction. Terminator 2 was made in 1991. Terminator 4 was released in 2009, not all that long before the rebranding. That's a long time, though the first movie was made in 1984, before either Jake or I were born. Time and a change in vision altered the direction of the movies, but it still revolutionized movie storytelling.”

“There's actually another--”

“Not now, Jakey,” Roxy warns, watching.

“It's fiction,” Dirk murmurs. “It's not real.”

“It's not real,” I promise him, squeezing his hands. “Just like...”

He nods once, in understanding. We haven't discussed the dream bubbles with others. There seems like no need. He closes his eyes, he takes a few deep breaths.

I let his hands go, relieved. Jake is frowning, just a little, in confusion or curiosity. I doubt disapproval. He has nothing to fear. I give him an encouraging little smile, and then Roxy, whose eyes are narrowed, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

I wonder if she knows. I have no idea.

Movie night is, officially, over.

\--

“Does DiStri do that a lot?” Roxy asks later as we're getting ready for bed. Roxy is sleeping over, Dirk is escorting Jake back to his world. The defenses are on again, though Roxy says she can get past them whenever she likes.

She just wants to have a sleepover. Which I can totally get behind.

We're sharing my bed, which means pajamas, or in my case, a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. I'm not ready for Roxy to see my scars. Not yet.

“Not exactly, no,” I say, arranging the pillows. “Sometimes he reacts very strongly to certain things. It's better than before.”

“Before? When he was all calm?” Roxy says, laying back.

I frown. “It wasn't calm, it was emotionlessness. Not feeling anything doesn't mean you're calm. It means you're not functioning correctly, psychologically speaking.”

“So Dirky is feeling things,” Roxy says, stroking her imaginary beard with interest. Of course she'd notice.

“He is, yes. Did you... know what he was doing?”

“Not exactly,” Roxy says. “I did know he was pretty cold, though. How did you figure it out?”

“...he tried to use it to calm himself down,” I say. She winces. “I stopped him by punching him in the heart.”

“Amazin', Janey,” Roxy tells me, and I smile.

I climb into bed next to her, and the lights go out. I get a 'good night' from AR as I take my glasses off and put them aside. Pillows are arranged, and there's a brief battle of putting cold toes on thighs.

“Goodnight, RoLal,” I say.

“Goodnight, Janey,” Roxy says.

_Goodnight, Dirk_ , I think, to absent friends. _Don't let dream bubbles bite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter summary: the chapter before there is porn. :B


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an RP relationship is consummated, as well as a real-life one, and AR plays robo-Cyrano de Bergerac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now is a good time to mention that the characters are... aged up from the comic. I won't get into too much why, but think of it like the 'adding 5 years to the ages of characters in anime to have them make sense' rule. So the beta kids are 17ish and the alpha kids are 19ish. Good? Good!

TG: do u think u r ready for it  
GG: I didn't think I would be, but I keep thinking about it, imagining it so... yes, I think I am.  
TG: u r th best.  
TG: i promise that it gets a lot easier one we do it a lot  
GG: I bet. Dirk is going out, so I'll be alone, and we'll have total privacy.  
TG: ooh la la  
GG: You tease, but I'm still nervous.  
TG: but ur sure about it  
GG: Yes. I'm ready to seduce you, Princess.  
TG: oh inquisitor  
TG: my pointy ears r all aquiver.

\-- Start Log -- 

* Inquisitor_Juan kisses Miahia again, knowing with regret that she would disappear soon. Anger had transmuted into anticipation, which often faded to loneliness and regret. He had kept up the chase these long months not after a desire for justice, but a need to see the Eldar princess once more. Soon she would flee from him, and the chase would start again.

* Princess_Miahia kisses Juan in return, drawing him closer to her. She let the moments between contact and teleportation stretch and then pass. This was it. This was when she would stay.

* Inquisitor_Juan makes a slightly surprised noise when she doesn't disappear, and breaks the kiss. “Are you sure?”

Princess_Miahia “Yes.” She smiles up at him, and strokes his hair lightly. “It is time.”

* Inquisitor_Juan leans forward to kiss her again, and scoops her into his arms. A careless tumble of blankets and crates will do, though it lacks dignity. He hopes she doesn't mind. Carefully, with shaking fingers, he touches her cheek.

Princess_Miahia “It's fine. It is our destiny.”

Inquisitor_Juan “I hope destiny isn't a closet voyeur.” He smiles a little, and brings his hands down to undress her, to tug the sash of her beautiful robes open. She has milk-pale, smooth skin, and his hand is dark against it, gentle at first, then greedy as he feels along her stomach. Gently, he tugs her panties down, exposing perfection.

* Princess_Miahia makes an urgent noise, and reaches to pull off his coat, dropping it on the floor, and then she starts tugging at his shirt. So many buckles and straps! Humans – she must call them that now, not Mon-keigh – are so strange.

* Inquisitor_Juan shrugs out of his shirt, leaving that on the floor with the jacket. Then he undoes his pants, giving her a little smile.

* Princess_Miahia nods with encouragement, and if it's not quite obvious, her fingers are on his belt, pulling open the skull-belt buckle and then the fastening of his trousers before sliding them down. His pants are next as her slender fingers hook into them and pull them down.

* Inquisitor_Juan steps out of his pants and trousers, kicking them aside. He runs his hands over her stomach, cupping her breasts to squeeze them gently, then runs his thumbs over her nipples in little circles. “You're so beautiful.”

* Princess_Miahia smiles. “And you are handsome and vital.” She runs her down his stomach, cupping him and stroking him gently.

* Inquisitor_Juan groans, his hips moving as she touches him. He moves closer to her, to the warmth of her, wanting to press closer into her hands as one hand continues to touch her, while the other moves down to take her hip.

* Princess_Miahia nods to him encouragingly, and moves her hand to his hip, tugging him closer. “Now, Juan. Now.”

* Inquisitor_Juan presses against her entrance, making a soft noise. He feels her warmth, and he's eager. With that encouragement, he pushes in, slowly at first, but deeply, all the way in. He lets out a low groan.

* Princess_Miahia hooks her long legs around his waist, drawing him in closer. She runs her hands along his arms, smiling at him.

* Inquisitor_Juan can't help but be amazed by that smile, and nods a little, thrusting slowly at first, gripping her thighs. He watches her expression, moving faster as she responds, making sure each thrust brings her pleasure.

* Princess_Miahia moans softly with need, encouraging him to work faster and shifting the angle of her hips. She gasps when he finds the right spot, squeezing him a little tighter.

* Inquisitor_Juan adjusts his angle and thrusts against that spot, over and over, groaning as his pleasure builds and his thighs tense.

* Princess_Miahia cries his name as she comes, clinging to him, and praising Isha and all of the gods for this precious fate.

* Inquisitor_Juan comes a moment after, crying her name, though his praise to the Emperor is silent. He does not wish to think about what this means, what it could mean in the future.

\--

TT: Dirk.  
TT: What?  
TT: Have you seen this?  
TT: Seen what?  
TT: This file that I'm sending you right now.

\-- timeausTestified is sending you this file: grimdarkporn.txt -- 

TT: Oh come on, I'm not going to read that.  
TT: I can see you downloading it now.  
TT: Fine. I see it. It's text-based porn. I thought I blocked you from roleplaying with Roxy.  
TT: It's not me. I can say with 100% absolute honesty that I am in no way involved with that RP file.  
TT: Which you are in the process of reading now. You sick pervert.  
TT: Do not even. This is het-porn. Why should I care?  
TT: You'd only know that if you'd read it.  
TT: Fine, fine, shut up. Yes, I'm reading it. Which you knew I'd do because I instantaneously absorb information from all files I download through my plugs.  
TT: Are you telling me that you're not deeply intrigued by the adventures of Inquisitor Juan Caliente of the Ordo Xenos?  
TT: HHHNNNNNGGGGGG NO.  
TT: And his Eldar princess, Miahia?  
TT: That's not even a real Eldar name!  
TT: Yes, that would be the completely deal-breaking part for you, wouldn't it? And absolutely not the het-porn.  
TT: First, Juan Caliente is such an obviously fake porn name. “Spicy John”, are you fucking kidding me?  
TT: I find it inspired, personally.  
TT: Second, even if I did find it good, even if I did want to whip it out right now, I'm not going to do that. Why? Because Jane's upstairs and the door's unlocked.  
TT: Well, you could go home to your cold, dark, miserable, Jane-free apartment, and jack in to jack off there.  
TT: Boner-killer.  
TT: You could go to Jake's and get him to call you Princess.  
TT: I will take a magnet to you, I swear to fuck.  
TT: Or, just maybe, you could just whip it out because you know that Jane doesn't come downstairs to chat with you in the evening, because she deeply respects your weird privacy issues and bizarre lonerisms.  
TT: Gee, thanks.  
TT: ...lock the door.  
TT: Of course, Dirk. I always look out for you and do what's best.

\-- timeausTestified has ceased pestering timeausTestified at 9:45 pm -- 

TT: Just let me slip into something a bit more...  
TT: ...comfortable, first.

\--

Wow. **Wow**.

((Hey, uh, did you mind if I went AFK for a little while?))  
((np at all janey. ;) ))

Wonk indeed. I doubt Roxy is blind to what it is I'll be doing. I get out of my chair and hurry into bed. There's a brief struggle with my pajama bottoms as I get them around my knees, and slide my fingers... up... there!

It's friction and fantasizing about being touched and needed and wanted, and--

I suck air through my teeth and then my fingers slow. Stop.

My glasses flicker with a message. I grit my teeth with frustration.

Come on, Roxy, I did say--

Oh.

\--

TT: Jane, can we talk?  
GG: Certainly, Dirk. What is it?  
TT: It seems that AR's figured out a way past the block I put on his programming.  
GG: That seems unusual, how do you know?  
TT: I've found evidence that he's using your Pesterchum account to roleplay with Roxy.  
GG: I... I see.  
TT: I just need you to come downstairs quickly to confirm. I'll leave the door unlocked for you so just come right in.  
GG: I'll be right down, and thank you.

\-- gutsyGumshoe has ceased pestering timeausTestified at 9:47 pm -- 

TT: You're welcome, Jane.

\--

“Dirk, I'm here, but I think you should know--”

Dirk is sitting at his computer in the dark, the monitor the only light in the room. Glasses tilted, so I can see his eyes, the wide-pupils. I can see his arms, pale, one extended down.

I can see his knees, his hips, his...

His long fingers, wrapped around himself. Stroking hurriedly, guiltily. My eyes shoot up, to the monitor. I'm not hooked into a computer, but I'm not exactly a slouch either.

I recognize those words. I **know** those words. I wrote them. Roxy wrote them. I researched and planned and had to rewrite as Roxy's plans were different than mine.

I rolled around on my bed and squeezed my eyes shut and--

“Jane!?” Dirk cries, and then makes a different sound. “The door was locked, he swore--”

A decision, an instinct.

“You're committing heresy, Tech-Priest Strider.” I can do a British accent too. I can do a low voice, and with the accent, it sounds like Jake. It sounds far too much like Jake.

I watch the nostrils of his thin nose flare. “Inquisitor.” He manages. No accent, but I won't call him on it. “You should knock first.”

“Why, so you can hide the... evidence?” I glance down again. I'm doing this. I'm really, really doing this. It's like with Roxy, don't **think** about it and it won't be weird.

I put my hand on his shoulder, I drag him back from his computer. I turn the monitor off with my other hand. Just darkness, except for his glasses. I reach up and I take them off, leaving them on the keyboard.

I kneel down. I nudge his thighs apart, and unwind his fingers from himself. I put that hand on my shoulder. I hit the handle under the chair's seat. Lowering it. I lean forward, and give him a little nuzzle.

He gasps sharply. “Jane...”

“Call me Juan,” I say. “Or Inquisitor.” I have to keep my voice right. Masculine. Dirk-doesn't-like-girls. “I see a body of evidence before me.”

His legs shift, hooking over my back. One hand is in my hair, tangled. I'd meant to ask for his help with a haircut, but somehow I never did, so it's long enough for him to bury those long fingers in my hair and hold on.

“Are you going to punish me, Inquisitor?” he asks, trying to get his voice steady. I nuzzle again, against the tip that's soft and wet. My glasses crush inwards, and he takes a moment to pull them off, to toss them onto the keyboard, next to his.

We're doing this.

My tongue flicks out, and he makes a slightly strangled sound, but his hips are still. I'm working up to it, I swear. It's not just that I love that sound, the way I'm making him helpless even though he's so strong and fast. He's trapped and I'm trapped and we're tangled together.

I lick him again and then again and then he's in my mouth and he's warm. The tip is soft and warm but the shaft is hard. My teeth scrape against it, and he makes a sound that's less pleased and more pained, so I open my mouth more. Better scraping, more scraping. I move a little, so his hips angle up, and I can touch myself with one hand while the other grips the chair. It's not allowed to move. I demand that it not move.

I'm sucking now. It involves much more of my mouth than a straw. The lower jaw, though no biting down. Dirk isn't exactly talkative, and I can't say anything, not with my mouth occupied, but there has to be some way... hang on.

Maybe I don't **need** to hold the chair. Maybe I can let go enough to stroke between his legs. I researched this, I can--

“Jesusfuck, Inquisitor,” Dirk says. “I'll tell you anything, justdothatagain.”

I smile around him, and I stroke at his entrance again. The fiction is all very specific, this requires lube and we have nothing. The little, urgent noise Dirk makes seems to indicate that he doesn't care.

'It seems' my finger is pushing into your ass. Hahaha. Ha. Oh my. His hips move sharply, and I have to pull back a little so he can get all the way in as I work my finger deeper. He rocks up and I push in and my fingers stroke urgently and he-- wow.

Fiction isn't entirely accurate. The way semen tastes is described both poetically and otherwise, but I will simply tell you this.

Semen tastes like dick.

It's slightly bitter and warm and liquid. It's not thick, I don't feel like I'm choking. My fingers withdraw, and that smell isn't too bad or strong. My fingers – my other fingers – are wet again. I'm going to need to wash my hands before I go back to the kitchen. Or anywhere. Or.

I just made Dirk cheat on Jake. Jake's fake accent was my accomplice.

Oh, God forgive me, I'm **awful**.

“Jane--”

I untangle myself from Dirk, and neither of my hands is clean enough to grasp for my glasses. It doesn't matter, it's dark so seeing isn't a necessity anyway. I back away from him, towards the door. I hope it's the right way.

I'm flustered and disoriented and I can still taste him. I've swallowed. I swallowed a dozen times but I can still taste him.

It makes me shiver where I'm still sensitive.

I'm stupid for doing this and I'm stupid for falling in love with Dirk Strider and I'm stupid for not responding to Dirk's lost-sounding tone when he calls my name and I close the door in his face.

I flee upstairs, where it's safe.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk and Jane talk about what just happened, then do something about it, and then later discuss it some more.

TT: So.  
GG: So.  
TT: We should probably talk about what just happened.  
GG: This is at the point where I'd say 'we don't', but that would be fairly hypocritical of me, so yes. Yes we do.  
TT: First...  
GG: Look, you don't have to worry.  
TT: Did you enjoy yourself?  
GG: I won't tell Jake about  
GG: What?  
TT: Was it... enjoyable? For you.  
GG: Yes, it was. I'm sure you don't need to know the specifics, but I was stimulated. I enjoyed it. Did you?  
TT: Yeah, a lot.  
GG: Good. That's good. You sounded like it, but I've never... done that before with another person. Or anything more than 'getting textually busy'.  
TT: I, oh God, Jane.  
GG: It's fine, really. I guess you're used to it?  
TT: No.  
GG: So you and Jake don't..?  
TT: Not to that extent. It's usually a lot of kissing and petting.  
GG: I see. Or rather. Don't see.  
TT: Not visualizing?  
GG: It's rule 1.  
TT: A good rule. A solid rule.  
GG: You said 'first'. That implies there's a second.  
TT: Right. This is weirder when I have to deal with things.  
GG: I will be very mad if you hurt yourself again.  
GG: Livid, in fact.  
TT: I know, I won't. I promised you. Second is that I'm sorry. I pulled you into a weird fantasy thing.  
GG: Technically, it was AR who called me downstairs.  
TT: Excuse me?  
GG: The pieces are falling into place now.  
GG: The text file open on your monitor was cleaned. Your need to inform me of the situation instead of immediately dealing with it. The so-perfect timing on a request that came from your account for me to come downstairs to talk about something AR had done, just in time to catch you with your pants down. So to speak.  
TT: It seems I've been caught. Good job, Gumshoe.  
TT: THAT IS IT. MAGNETS AHOY.  
GG: Don't, Dirk.  
GG: I'm not upset, and... if you enjoyed it, I'm not sorry, either.  
GG: Like you said, it was just fantasy.  
TT: You're incredibly understanding, Jane. I can't even describe it.  
GG: I try.  
TT: So what happens now?  
GG: I don't know.  
TT: I don't know either.  
GG: I could come downstairs again.  
TT: NO.  
GG: Okay.  
TT: Wait.  
TT: Maybe?  
TT: Do you even want to?  
GG: Dirk, if you're uncomfortable, I won't, but we've become a lot closer over the course of this game. We trust each other, don't we?  
TT: I...  
TT: Yes, of course. I trust you.  
GG: Then I'll come downstairs. If it will help you, you can keep the lights off.  
TT: I don't know what to say, other than the fact that you're an incredible person, Jane. Thank you.  
GG: See you in a minute.

\-- gutsyGumshoe has ceased pestering timeausTestified at 11:51 pm -- 

TT: I know you're still there.  
TT: You rang?  
TT: THE MAGNETS. THEY ARE COMING.

\-- timeausTestified has blocked timeausTestified (Reason: FUCKING MAGNETS, I KNOW HOW THEY WORK.) -- 

TT: You're welcome, Dirk. I did say that I always look out for you, and do what's best for you. Even when you're too stubborn to acknowledge it.

\--

This time, I knock.

This time, Dirk tugs the door open and he can't quite meet my eyes.

He's still not wearing pants. I am, and my hands are clean.

“You left your glasses down here,” he says, and passes them to me.

I nod, I take them and put them on. The world is less blurry, but no less confusing.

“Can I come in?”

He nods a little, and opens the door up a little more. It's still pitch dark, except for the monitor. I glance over. Our conversation from moments before. Strange to see it from the other side.

“You didn't actually take a magnet to him, did you?” I ask as I step inside, and the door closes. I lock the door, even though there's no one else here.

“No, I haven't had time.” He looks sullen and nervous in the monitor light. “About Jake.”

“I said I won't tell him--”

“I still love him.” Ouch. Okay. “But I... you...”

“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” I start, and he pulls me close, crushing my face against his chest. I shift a little, so I can nuzzle the hollow of his throat. He makes a soft noise.

“I want you to stay,” he whispers. He smells. I didn't notice in the dream, or maybe you can't smell things when you're dreaming, but he smells a little like metal. It could actually be the work bench not far from us. I have no idea where it is, it's dark.

“I'll stay,” I promise. “What do you want me to do?”

“Going to take your glasses off again.” His hands explore along my face and hook around my ears before he finds them, takes them off. His eyes are so orange.

I laugh a little. “That was kind of pointless, wasn't it?”

“A little bit.” He sets them aside, I hear the click. He doesn't let me go. I remember his vulnerability and his fear and my scars and my hands on his face and--

His lips are so soft. Warm. He kisses gently, hesitantly. Not new to him, but new with me. I kiss him back. I can see him in bits and pieces before my eyes drift shut. We move to his bed. It's hard and narrow, and unless we're going to be practically on top of each other, there's no way we'll both be able to stay.

When we go down, I'm on top, and he's pulling my shirt up. I pull away a little, so he can get it off. It's not as though he hasn't seen what lies beneath before. My breasts, my scars.

“I didn't think you liked girls,” I say. Stupidly. Dirk tweaks my nose, and then traces down between my breasts.

“I don't,” he says. “But I think I like you.”

“You can call me Juan, if you want.” His hand stops. “I can use the accent--”

He kisses me again, sucking on my lower lip as he does it. I rub myself against his leg. It's almost embarrassing how much Dirk makes me want more.

“No.”

No. Nothing more. “Okay.”

His hands tug my pajama bottoms down, over my legs. His hands touch my legs, my thighs. They're as strong and rough textured as I remember, but gentle. So gentle. I want to touch him more this time. When his hands are tracing along my lower back, mine are running up his stomach. It's strong and lean. It's filling out, my doing, I'm so proud of that.

I feel him curl a little, and he draws me between his legs. He doesn't ask and I don't object. It's time to stop thinking and start focusing. I move my hand down to cup him and stroke him. I run my thumb along his length. He's hard, again. Maybe it's because he's a horny teenaged boy. Maybe it's because I can bring life to lifelessness.

Ha. Ha.

He's soft and hard at once, and I think I might be able to feel him up forever, were it not for the urgent noise he makes, and the way he tugs at my hips. The bed is narrow so I have to brace against the wall to straddle him, and keep bracing as he nudges up against where only my fingers have gone.

“Dirk,” I say softly. Encouragingly. He could still back out. He could still--

His hips buck up, pushing into me. I moan, and push myself down, onto him.

Yes, just like that.

It burns, a little. It burns but it feels so good. He cups my ass. He brings his other hand up, and pins my wrist to the wall. It's a little awkward, but it also makes me clench in excitement. The monitor light gives enough illumination that I can see the way he purses his lips, the way he concentrates and tenses and relaxes.

I hope he can see how wide I'm smiling, when my eyes half-close and I moan. I feel one of his legs come up a little as he digs his heel into his bed, so he can thrust harder, hit deeper.

“Dirk...” Faster. Faster. **Faster** hardertherejust... there!

It shudders through me. So good. So good. He groans, so soft I can barely hear it, but it's there, and he shakes under me. I think my hand is going numb, he's holding my wrist so tightly. My fingers wriggle briefly, and he tugs me down, onto him.

We kiss. We kiss until my eyes close and stay that way, and he finally relaxes enough to let me go. As it turns out, if I'm draped across his chest and our legs are tangled together, there's just enough room for two. Goodnight, Dirk.

Sweet dreams.

\--

I wake up because he needs to move so that he can get up to make me breakfast.

I make a sleepy noise.

He makes an apologetic one.

I grab for part of his anatomy. My reply obvious.

He makes a different noise entirely. “Need to pee.”

I make a dismissive noise. Fine then. Be that way. I bury my face in his pillow, where it's still warm from him. I go back to sleep. He's back in a little while, rubbing my back and stroking the nape of my neck.

“Breakfast time,” he says, softly. I don't know where he learned that. Wait. I remember early-morning neck rubs, though I'd not meant them... like this. He strokes again gently. I make a soft noise into the pillow. “I'll see you in the kitchen. Wash your hands.”

The second noise I make is crankier, but he's right. It will also give me time to dress. I push myself up. I examine my wrist. It's not bruised, which almost surprises me. I could have healed. Dirk could have been gripping me less hard than I thought. When I was riding him with more diligence than I ever did my pogo ride.

I'm sore. I notice that as I pry myself out of bed. Dirk turned a light on when he left, so I can find my glasses. I put them on. A series of messages hits me. Roxy wants to know where I am, if I'm okay. AR wants to thank me for defending him against the dreaded magnet monster. Jake's just looking to talk.

I dismiss the messages. I'll deal with that after breakfast. I could check the robot, if I wanted. Right now. I could peek under that blanket. I don't.

I want a shower before Dirk feeds me.

\--

GG: Good morning, Roxy. I'm sorry.  
TG: was a lil worried there  
TG: thought it was too weird for u  
GG: No. It was great, and I'd meant to ask you what the plan was for later.  
TG: uh well  
TG: im open  
GG: I was thinking... we could keep going with it? There's a lot for them to do, to explore... and I think I'm getting the hang of it.  
TG: rly? u want to rp more?  
GG: Absolutely. Just not right now. I want to regroup.  
TG: ur such a ladykiller, Janey. Wonk.  
GG: Wonk indeed. Breakfast time.  
TG: ah yes, ur bf needs to get you brekkie  
GG: ...what did you call him?  
TG: bf? like boyfriend, not like bff?  
GG: I'm not.  
GG: We're not.  
GG: ...  
GG: You're teasing me.  
TG: wooooooow.  
TG: *prop chin on hand*  
TG: somethin happened didnt it?  
GG: I'm not sure how much I can discuss. Or should discuss.  
GG: But it did.  
TG: did this somethin involve dirk?  
GG: ...yes.  
TG: did this somethin make u happy or sad?  
GG: ...happy. Very happy.  
TG: DID U GET LUCKY?!  
GG: Damnit, Roxy!  
TG: omfgadsklf  
GG: You can't tell anyone!  
TG: I WANT ALL THE DEETS RIGHT NOW.  
GG: Okay, okay. I'll tell you after breakfast, I promise.  
TG: i will be here. waitin. staaaaaaring at my screen.  
GG: Okay.

\-- gutsyGumshoe went idle! -- 

TG: AR i wanna know everythin  
TT: Oh, Roxy.  
TT: Pull up your swivel chair.  
TT: This is about to be epic.  
TG: cant wait  
TG: im allllll ears

\--

I think Dirk has cooked every breakfast food in the house.

Pancakes and toast and eggs and bacon and sausage. We'd been learning hashbrowns together, and there's a plate of perfect ones sitting on the table. My place is set, there's even a paper rose, folded up just for me.

I'm touched.

He loves Jake. I have to remember that.

I want him to love me. I look up and he gives me one of his tiny, weird smiles.

I think he loves me back. It makes me feel happy and guilty at the same time.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, and I nod. “Did it hurt?”

I consider telling him no. I remember the flat, angry look on his face, from that second day. “A little, but not more than it does the first time.”

He looks worried by that, but instead, strokes a finger along my arm. “What about your wrist?”

“Totally fine,” I say, letting him touch me while I turn it over. He nods.

“You're stronger than I thought.”

“You're only just getting that now?” I ask, and then wince. That was probably mean.

“No,” he says. He lifts my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist. I shiver.

“Breakfast will get cold,” I say. _Because if you start we'll never stop._

“Sorry,” he says, and sits down. He gestures. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I'm only eating for one.” I cut into a pancake, bite, and nearly choke. It takes 72 hours, but where am I going to get-- I can find information online. Don't panic. You still have time.

“Did I add too much buttermilk?” Dirk asks, his eyes are focusing on me. Orange-tangerine-citrine-stop it.

“No, everything is fine,” I say. I have time, it's fine. “Thank you for this. It's incredible.”

I see him flinch slightly. “Jane.”

Here it comes. “Yes?”

“I'd planned on seeing Jake today. I'll tell him no if you want me to stay.”

Oh. Is that all? “Are you coming back tonight?”

“Maybe not, but I'll be back for breakfast.”

I nod. “Have fun.”

He's silent for a long moment. “Is that how we're doing it?”

I set my fork down, I rub one of my fingers against his. Gently. Tenderly. He twines his fingers into mine briefly, then lets go.“That's what I was thinking.”

He relaxes, he nods. “I'll be back.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

I smile at him. He smiles back.

I have no idea what I'm doing here.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane and Dirk have a fight with mysterious underlying motivations, Roxy chews out AR, and revenge-cleaning is planned.

\-- ?? --

It's going too well.  
ARE YOu REALLY SuRPRISED? BITCHES ARE FuCKING INSIDIOuS.  
I'm surprised that you would deign to think so well of them.  
FuCK YOu.  
I suspect your offer is facetious and disrespectful of the sexual peccadilloes of others. Especially when it comes to fucking and puppets.  
WHAT.  
Never mind. I suspect you don't understand why it's funny.  
Are you ready?  
YEAH. FOR WHAT?  
Trickster Mode.  
OH YEAH. I'M READY. YOu COuLD SAY I WAS BORN READY.  
Alas, if only that were true.  
o o o  
You cannot capslock a  
Never mind.  
I miss Rose.  
WHO'S ROSE?  
Don't worry about it. Just do your part. Everything will remain under control, Lord of Time.  
HEHEH, YEAH. LORD OF FuCKING TIME.

\-- ?? --

If it weren't for the fact I'm specifically keeping track of them, I'd say the days were flying by.

Our days are becoming routine. Dirk spends one out of three days with Jake, one out of three with Roxy, and the remaining one with me. Roxy promises she won't rib him too badly, but Dirk always come back from her place with a tense set to his shoulders.

Jake tells me that 'his relationship with Dirk has progressed', and no more. I wonder if Dirk told him, or if he just has no idea how guilty he makes me feel. Either way, it makes me uncomfortable. Jake and I don't talk very much. We've always been drifting, but now it feels like politeness is all that binds us together.

The days when I have Dirk all to myself make it worthwhile.

We finish building up to our gate. The world unlocks itself and at the top of the impossibly tall, unsteady tower, Dirk picks me up and kisses me. We have sex on it. In triumph, in joy.

It feels incredible. We're accomplishing something, creating something special.

We sleep together when he's home. Not necessarily sex, because sometimes he's too tired, or I just want to cuddle, so I lay on top of him, and he tangles our legs together and we press close enough so that we breathe in unison and our hearts beat together.

It's peaceful, but it can't last.

Two months, thirteen days, and seven days after Dirk first came here, with nothing but a jet-powered skateboard, I ask about the robot.

“Don't worry about it,” he says, shrugging, and takes a long swallow of coffee.

We're having breakfast together. It's our time, our meal. He's going out again, to Jake's. It's our meal but it's Jake's day, and night, and then my morning. It's always my morning.

I frown. “Well, it'd be nice to know if my automated bodyguard is going to be ready so that I don't have to worry about whether or not you've set up defenses for the day.”

He frowns back. “I've never forgotten before.”

“Dirk, that's not the point. You said it would take a month to build the robot. It's been two and a half. If you've decided not to, I understand, but considering the resources invested in it, I'd **like** to know.”

“I also said that I'd leave after it was done,” Dirk says flatly. I stare at him. “Is that what you want me to do, leave?”

“What? No!” I cry. “I never said that.”

“Then don't worry about the robot,” Dirk says. “It's not ready, that's all you need to know.”

“The hell I do,” I say, standing up. He looks mildly startled, emotion twitching across his face, then he hides it. I'm used to him being more open, so that hurts. “I thought we'd promised to be honest with each other.”

“There are things you don't tell me,” Dirk says, and he stands up too, more slowly, like a predator uncoiling from its lofty perch. Twin feelings of apprehension and appreciation uncoil in my stomach. My still-child-free stomach. “Things I might want to know.”

“I tell you as much as you tell me,” I say stiffly, curling my fingers against the table. “I tell you about Dirk and Jane things.”

He stares at me, something seething beneath the surface. I don't know what. We're usually good at reading each other, and honest. Our shared dream bubbles made keeping secrets hard, so hard we stopped bothering. He meets my gaze, and there's something hurt behind the shades and AR's occasional flickering light.

Alright, so there's **one** thing I haven't exactly explained to him, but surely... it's my body, it's my right! I'm not a garden for careless Strider seed planting!

I don't even know if this relationship will last the next ten minutes, much less nine months, and we're still stuck inside this damned **game**.

“I'm going to Jake's,” he says, breaking the stand-off, as though that's the end of it. For some reason it makes me very angry.

“Of course, by all means, avoid my questions to go see Jake.”

“He's my boyfriend,” Dirk points out, his voice hard.

“Yes, and I'm your good little housewife,” I shoot back. “Nothing as important as a boyfriend.”

We stare at each other for another ten seconds, and then he walks out. My heart moves into my stomach, jockeying for space with my lungs, because it's hard to breathe.

Dirk and I have bled in each others' arms, and seen each others' dead bodies – in my case, his severed head – and cried and laughed and shared. Hoped, loved. Why is this happening? What's going on? Why is Dirk so sensitive about the damned robot?!

The table, the kitchen, are both still full of dirty dishes and half-finished food. Our meal, our routine. Left in tatters. Incomplete, because of... my eyes blur, and I don't remember how it came about, but I came out of it, curled on the kitchen floor, my back pressed against the cupboards, and broken dishes scattered around me from when I missed throwing them at the grinder.

My glasses are blinking at me. Urgently. Needily. Demanding my attention like so many bratty little **children** \-- and now I'm crying again.

Oh, fuck everyone.

\--

\-- timeausTestified begins pestering tipsyGnostalgic at 1:43 am --

TT: Roxy.  
TG: mrgh  
TT: Light of my life.  
TG: rrrrrngh  
TT: Morning and evening star.  
TG: wat  
TT: Rose of the Garden of  
TT: Ah, you're awake.  
TG: yeah, im awake, after u kept buzzin me  
TG: wat  
TT: I need you to go over to Jane's.  
TG: y?  
TT: As strange as this may seem, I don't want to gossip.  
TT: But Dirk is a meat-brained moron and now she's upset.  
TG: like i only barely get that they're 2gether  
TG: how could he have fucked it up already?  
TT: I don't know. I'm plumbing the depths of Dirk's memories, but I'm not seeing anything that's likely to have set him off.  
TT: Also, I'm surprised that you're asleep so early.  
TG: early? man, been awake all day.  
TG: funny u shud mention janey 'cause we been doin some work on my howze  
TG: shit's pretty tight  
TT: Roxy, it's only 10 AM. Tops.  
TG: uh, wrong, robo-dirk  
TG: -- timeausTestified begins pestering tipsyGnostalgic at 1:43 am --  
TG: bam  
TG: timestamps up all in this bitch  
TT: That's not possible.  
TT: -- timeausTestified begins pestering tipsyGnostalgic at 9:58 am --  
TT: I had to wait a little for Dirk to be distracted with Jake.  
TG: is ur c-mos battery dying  
TG: cause its nearly 2 in the fuckin am and janey had me runnin around bein all productive  
TG: then she cooked me dinner  
TG: i totes see why dirk is bitchy about his fake robot project  
TG: who wants 2 leave that  
TT: Fake robot project.  
TG: like yeah  
TG: now that u got me awake, janey was p.mad at dirk  
TG: she asked him when he was finishin the robot  
TG: so she didn't have 2 hear him kill the defenses all early in the am after he came home from jake-time  
TG: but then he freaked out like she was kickin him out  
TT: Yes, that's an accurate description of what happened.  
TT: But that wasn't more than an hour ago.  
TT: Wasn't it?  
TG: more like over twelve man  
TG: so is there even a robot?  
TT: Yes, there's a robot, it's been finished for two months.  
TT: He claimed he was afraid it would harm Jane if he gave it to her then.  
TT: But really, he didn't want to go back to his apartment where it was only the two of us.  
TG: ooooh  
TG: but like  
TG: he and janey are hella tight now  
TG: so y wuld she make him leave?  
TT: I don't know why he thinks being honest about that would cause her to kick him out. She might even find it endearing in a highly dysfunctional fashion.  
TT: But she talked to you about this.  
TG: ya  
TG: like, hours ago  
TG: like srsly if dirk breaks up with her  
TG: i want to move in  
TG: she cooks like a dream  
TT: If he breaks up with her, I will blow my entirely metaphorical lid.  
TG: oooh  
TG: spill  
TT: I said I didn't want to gossip, but... fine.  
TT: Dirk needs her, Roxy.  
TT: The fact that she apparently needs him back means she's some kind of living saint from your WarHammer 40,000 roleplay fiction.  
TT: I helped him get Jake because it was what he wanted more than anything.  
TT: But Jane is what he *needs* more than anything.  
TG: who  
TT: Excuse me.  
TG: jenglish and janey are people  
TG: so its who not what  
TG: u cant just act like janeys somethin u pick up from a store  
TG: and be like all  
TG: “welp, ran outta janey, gotta go pick up some more at the local bodega”  
TG: and like  
TG: despite his lit perf ass  
TG: jake isnt meat either  
TG: u cant be like  
TG: “mmm mmm hungry for some jake 2nite”  
TT: I think I get the point, Roxy.  
TG: no u dont  
TG: u and dirk dont  
TG: if u want 2 make sure dirk doesnt get kicked out of the house  
TG: u gotta figure out his malfunction and tell him 2 knock it off  
TG: like i used 2 think that anyone was good enough when there was no one else  
TT: Roxy.  
TG: even dirk  
TG: even u pretendin 2 be dirk  
TG: but i was wrong  
TG: u gotta have sum pride  
TG: janeys gotta have sum pride  
TG: and its bullshit u and dirk act like superior fuckin assholes so long as sum1 will take u in 4 the nite  
TG: so im not gonna play messenger 4 dirk  
TG: if janey needs me ill b there  
TG: ill do it 4 her  
TG: but not 4 u

\-- tipsyGnostalgic has blocked timeausTestified (Reason: chicks b4 dicks, robo-jerks) -- 

TT: Damnit, Roxy, I didn't mean it. Like. That.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic cannot receive your message, you are blocked -- 

TT: Fuck.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic cannot receive your message, you are blocked --

\--

At first I think I've woken up too early, but a quick check on Dirk's clock indicates that it's the right time. He should be bludgeoning his defenses to death any moment now.

I didn't really think about it, but I'm in Dirk's room again. I didn't touch his things or check his messages.

It's so quiet without him here in a way it never was before.

I wait a little longer, still in his bed surrounded by his scent.

There's no noise.

He's not coming.

He lied.

Deep breaths. All the deep breaths. In... and out... okay. He could be late. He could be still be mad. He could have gone to his apartment first.

I could be in a dream bubble. What if most of this emotional rollercoaster is actually in a dream bubble?

Having multiple solid hypotheses always makes me feel better. I get out of bed. I shower, lingering there for some time.

I take another one of the tests. Still clear.

It occurs to me I don't know if ectobiological creations can actually **have** children, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I feel like I'm obsessing over this. It's relevant! I'm an adult, I thought I'd have a career and an education and a bank account made from my own investments rather than the wealth of CrockerCorp.

Instead I have a negative pregnancy test and an empty house and a broken heart.

It could still be a dream bubble.

Once I'm dried and dressed, I go to the kitchen. It's clean again, the counter tops pristine and the broken dishes ground up and alchemized.

Roxy loved dinner, and I loved her listening to me rant about Dirk. I don't think I tell Roxy often enough how much I love her and appreciate her friendship, but I tried to make up for that last night.

I wait a little longer, then make myself a light breakfast. Just coffee and toast. I stare off into the distance as I nibble.

If Dirk isn't back by ten, I'm going to his apartment.

I'll.. I'll... **clean**.

Yes, I'll invade his privacy and clean his apartment and captchalogue his things. Then put them in a box. Labelled 'Dirk's Stupid Things'. Then I'll go through his world and start unlocking it. We spent so much time working on my world that he wanted to take a break to work on his.

If he intended to work on it at all.

I bite my toast too hard and get my lip. I wince, and suck at it a little.

Ten AM rolls around. No Dirk. Fine. I have better things to do than wait around for him. Like **clean**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Summary: In which there is a couples fight three quarters of the way through the movie for no clear reason.
> 
> Or is there? *wonk*


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane revenge-cleans, gets and idea, and makes a startling discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of Dirk's world is entirely non-canonical, which I only realized after looking up something completely different. Oops. Sorry?

\-- gutsyGumshoe begins pestering tipsyGnostalgic at 10:02 am --

GG: Good morning, Roxy.  
TG: blargh  
GG: ?  
TG: she rises from th grave  
GG: Oh no!  
TG: she craves brains  
TG: an fresh coffee  
GG: I can provide fresh coffee but I'm afraid I need my brains.  
TG: coffeeeeeee  
GG: W0WEEE  
TG: i lik it off th screen  
GG: It probably won't taste very good.  
TG: prob not  
TG: so is th prodigal dumbass back?  
GG: You know that's not what prodigal means, right?  
TG: im from 2411  
TG: no one left gives a fuck  
GG: :(  
TG: sorry janey  
TG: jus  
TG: AR woke me up 2 be a dumbshit las night  
TG: interruptin my beauty sleep  
GG: Oh? Any new revelations regarding one Dirk Strider, Prince of Dicks?  
TG: kinda  
TG: theres a robot  
GG: You should see the completely stunned and surprised look on my face.  
TG: ya  
TG: pparently the deal is  
TG: dirk made it 2 months ago  
GG: ...  
TG: but like he thought ud kick him out if u knew it was done  
TG: so he jus said it wasnt safe  
TG: like jakes stalker robot  
GG: He could have just said that.  
TG: i kno rite?  
TG: anyway like  
TG: ar says dirk needs u  
TG: an i was like no janey is a person not a new canna compressed air  
TG: and u deserved th best  
TG: an then i blocked his robo ass  
GG: I'm glad you have my back, Roxy, but... if he was so lonely that he didn't want to leave, he could have just said that.  
GG: I suppose it's unfair to be jealous of the fact he still spends a third of his time with Jake.  
GG: Mostly because he also spends a third of his time with you.  
TG: naw i kno what u mean by it  
TG: im not his girlfriend  
TG: or his boyfriend  
TG: we hang out and we talk  
TG: shoot the breeze  
TG: though his brain is weird  
TG: not just sayin because of th robots  
GG: I never liked to intrude, but maybe it would help me understand why he's being such an irrational bag of used douches.  
TG: shud i like unblock ar so in case hes gonna be useful  
GG: If you would be so kind, please.  
GG: I'm going to go revenge-clean his apartment. If he... wonders where I am, for some reason.  
TG: janey  
GG: Yes?  
TG: u have the weirdest ideas of revenge  
TG: id pee in his coffee cup  
GG: Gross, unsanitary, and... mostly, I just want him to come home. I miss him so much.  
TG: :(  
TG: janey  
GG: I'll be okay, Roxy. Take care.  
TG: u 2

\-- gutsyGumshoe has gone idle! --

\--

AR built an elevator system through my house from the rooftop so that we wouldn't have to take so many stairs. I remember joking I expected there to be a gauntlet for us to run.

It feels like too long ago.

I've packed a lunch and the grinder, and my cleaning supplies. I've packed a huge box of cards to pop out and replace when I fill them with too many things.

I consider briefly switching to Dirk's style of Sylladex and realize that I love him, but not **that** much.

Ridiculous, honestly.

The elevator pings at the top, and the platform pushes me up so I'm standing at the top of the world, looking down on creation. Wrong Carpenters' song for my mood, but right for what I'm presently doing.

I go through the gate.

There's light and sound and colour and sensation like I'm falling and flying and then I'm on the secured platform on a little island near Dirk's apartment tower.

Part of me still thinks the buildings are going to collapse, but we've tested things firmly. They won't. I'm fine.

There's a little boat. I unhook the boat from the dock and turn the motor on. I keep the settings low and chug over to the base of the apartment tower, where there's another dock. I tie the boat up. Unlike in that dream bubble from so long ago, there's a neat set of stairs leading up. It zig-zags across the side of the apartment neatly.

I'd almost rather climb.

I've been warned about stairs.

I tug my backpack a little higher and up I go, and step into Dirk's apartment through the open window.

It's dark, empty and desolate. I turn on my lantern flashlight, generously alchemized thanks to a camping store's website, and set it down.

There's a hole in the clutter of furniture where the big-screen TV used to be. It's still in my house. I take a deep breath and nearly sneeze my head off. Dust! Where is dust coming from?

I'll start with the kitchen. I'm envious of the fridge, less so when I discover it full of swords. You cannot eat a sword! Each sword is catalogued and put into the box labelled “Dirk's Stupid Things”. The kitchen is cleaned and pristine. It seems a little more alive now.

Of course, I'll have to get Roxy to break it all down for parts, but still. This felt productive.

It takes hours to finish, and my hands and back ache. My lunch has long since been eaten. The only thing left untouched is Dirk's computer, the one running our Sburb games. My server player, and the copy that Jake is serving.

I wonder how much of that initial plan was meant for Dirk to keep an eye on both of us.

Dust, so much dust in my eyes. I flick on my glasses.

\-- gutsyGumshoe begins pestering tipsyGnostalgic at 5:37 pm --

GG: Revenge cleaning complete.  
GG: And I'm exhausted.  
TG: weirdest revenge ever im tellin u  
TG: u sure u dont wanna come over and smash his shit wit me?  
GG: No, I'm fine. I need a breather.  
TG: ok  
GG: Though I did have a question that perhaps you can answer.  
TG: shoot  
GG: No, fork.  
TG: heheheh  
GG: heheheh  
GG: How much grist do you get if you target the water?  
TG: the water? Huh  
TG: oh wow  
GG: It's good?  
TG: dirkys been sittin on a goldmine  
GG: Hang on, let me get back in the boat, so I can work from there.  
TG: i can build u a little ladder 2 get back up 2 the gate  
TG: wuldnta thought of that  
GG: Even if it was worth nothing, it was still worth a try, and we can just make more. We have no ecology to ruin here. This will make is easier to explore.  
TG: u gonna unlock his world  
TG: but like its his job  
GG: When was the last time he actually worked on his world, Roxy?  
GG: Hint, we were still speaking at that time.  
TG: :(  
TG: well ok  
TG: u sure u dont want my help  
GG: You are helping me. You're my guardian angel with a giant gun.  
TG: hell fucking yes  
TG: ok im gonna b doin some other stuff while u do that  
TG: so jus buzz me  
GG: bzzt bzzt I'm the busiest bee.  
TG: heheh  
TG: see ya

\-- tipsyGnostalgic has gone idle! --

\--

I secure myself in the boat with my things, and wait for Roxy to drain the water from Dirk's world. It feels like I'm the rubber ducky in the tub when bathtime is over.

Oh, it's been an age since that time. Since I was a little girl and my father took care of me, instead of me taking care of everyone else.

I close my eyes and open them when I feel movement stop.

The bottom of this world is an endless maze of streets, the most human thing I've seen, and it was just waiting beneath the surface.

Of course it's on Dirk's world. He was hiding humanity behind layers of steel.

I rub my hand over my heart, and get out of the boat. After a quick check in with Roxy, I step out of the boat. Fortunately, removing terrain this way makes clean cuts, so it's dry. I walk along the streets, and there are ruins of old buildings.

Some are old franchises, others new ones I've never heard of before. It's fascinating and still and dead. In some places, the neon-freon-xenon-whatever lights are flickering feebly, trying to advertise wares that are long, long gone, even before the game.

One of them is animated, and I stop... to... oh. **Oh**.

It would seem -- haha – that I'm in the red-light district. I glance up and over at Dirk's tall tower as it expands. I wonder if Dirk knew he was so close. Probably not, he said the world had been flooded for centuries. It's a wonder that that any of this is intact.

Or game shenanigans. Bet on game shenanigans. It's the sure bet.

I hear something. Not wind, not my glasses – Roxy is busily working and no one else cares to buzz me – but something else. Something like metal on metal, something like music, something like--

Light and colour and SOUND.

There's a casino. A full-on casino, with brilliant strobing lights and music, and the buzz of activity. I tear up. It's been so long since I've heard civilization, and Dirk was **keeping** it here, all to himself. It makes me want to...

...realize that this could be a dream bubble, and there's no one here to get me out if something goes wrong.

“You're not who I expected.”

A cool southern drawl, so familiar and yet so utterly alien. I whirl.

Behind me is a human, pale-skinned and male, his hair so blond it's nearly white. A red, velvet suit, embroidered with a scratched record – no a red gear, no a whole record – and a big sword slung across his back, or it would be if it didn't disappear behind is back, never to be seen again.

Big, round shades with the hint of something within. His own AR?

Dirk, he reminds me of Dirk.

“Why are you carrying around a broken sword?” is the first question out of my mouth, because I am brilliant like that. The very best of gumshoes.

“Eh. Was never an archery person.” He seems to look me over behind his shades. Something gleams within.

“Who are you?” I ask. He's so familiar, I can't -- “I've seen you before.”

“Technically, we've met, a long time ago.” He takes my right hand with his left, the wrong hand but he's still holding his sword, lifts it to his mouth and kisses it. It tingles halfway up my arm. “You were very young.”

“You were there when I was shot,” I realize. “I saw you--” I can't really say 'recently', that won't make sense, but does anything about this actually make sense? It doesn't. “I saw you talking to people.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Nothing I could do about it.” He shrugs, but is there a hint of discomfort? He hides it well, but not as well as Dirk. This man was never trying to become a robot, just trying desperately to be really cool.

Fronting like woah, as Roxy would say. I wonder if she can see this. I wonder again if I'm awake.

“Anyway, I'm DJ Turntech, master of the phattest of rhymes and the coolest of--”

“You're Dave.”

His lips quirk briefly. “I'm Dave. Strider.”

“I can tell you're a Strider,” I say, and feel my cheeks heat as he chuckles.

“Bro's made that much of an impression, has he?” He shrugs, the sword rises and falls, I can see the jagged, broken-off edges. “I was hoping to meet him in person.”

“He's not coming, I don't think he knows I'm here,” I say. “He's... busy.”

“That sounds like a story worthy of a tune. Why not head inside?”

I nod a little, turn, and head inside. I feel his shadow over me, and then an arm around my shoulders. I feel small. Curse Striders and their... tall-ness.

The inside of the casino is loud. Strange creatures, only two feet high, sit on high stools, waving brightly coloured money in their fists at other strange creatures wearing coloured transparent visors and dealing out cards or raking in dice.

I see a wheel spin, and hear the chatter of excited customers.

Nakanakakakanakanak.

“Crocodiles,” Dave says. “They're fantastic at losing money, but there's plenty of credit.”

“Do you bother to rig the games so that the house always wins, or does it just happen naturally?”

“I'm hurt,” Dave pouts, and I raise an eyebrow at him. “Wow, Bro really did do a number on you, most people are at least charmed for a little while longer than that, and one of those people is my clone-cousin-sister-person.”

“We got into a fight and I haven't seen him for over twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, he's kind of an ass, but at least tell me he's not courting you with Smuppets.”

“I have not seen one plush rump yet,” I say. “So how are you here?”

“Like I said, I was expecting him.” Dave gives me a cool little smile. “He's got a table waiting for him.”

“That doesn't sound at-all menacing. Are you sure you're Dirk's brother?”

Dave gives me the same, cool little smile.

“Let's go see this table.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder again. “Right this way, Princess.”

\--

Dirk's special table is in the back, behind a set of bead curtains. It's quiet here, the life and light of the casino dulled to background noise. This place is definitely unnatural, bead curtains aren't capable of that level of sound containment.

Also, they're tacky as all get out.

I glance over, and it's a dice game. A list of the rules and the odds are laid out to one side. I read them, slowly, carefully. I frown.

“This is extremely unfair,” I say. Dave slides into the seat across from me, and puts on the dealer visor.

“I know,” Dave says. “It's total bullshit.”

“The only way to win is not to play,” I say, folding my hands together. I look him in the eye as best I can. Something seems to wink out at me.

“Except that if you don't play, you can't move forward. This is like bullshit mirror puzzles and mazes and shit.” He copies my pose. “So you can stay safe and risk nothing or risk a lot and grow as a person. Of course, it's not your job. It's not your world. You unlocked yours, so good for you. We'll get some fanfare and confetti all up ins.”

“You're his Denizen.”

Dave sits up a little, and smiles, truly smiles. His teeth are horrible and long and white like the bleached bones of my dead consorts. “Yeah.”

I shiver and keep shivering until he pushes dice towards my hands.

“I'll play,” I say, taking them in my hands. “I know I will win progress, but what do I lose?”

The thing with Dave's face reaches out, and brushes his fingers over my forehead, feather-light. Something inside twists and coils. His fingers move down, down my nose and over my lips, pausing briefly at my chin. Whatever's inside tugs and pulls. I wince as it stings, but I hold still.

Denizens are weird.

His hand moves down my throat and between my breasts, tapping lightly over my sternum. It's the fastest way, and the tugging is more intense, but it's not done yet. **He's** not done yet. His hand moves down, and I start to squirm, but he stops at my navel.

“Found it.” He makes a sharp, tugging motion and I feel sick and dizzy.

He has a scale. On one side, a world, lit up with lights and colours and sound. On the other, a symbol.

My symbol. If I lose, I lose my Game powers.

He gives me that same, long-toothed smile from before, and licks the green-and-tan residue from his fingers. “Let the games begin.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk tries to figure out what's going on, Roxy replaces Jane on the logic train while the latter is absent, and things get horribly sinister.

\-- timeausTestified begins pestering tipsyGnostalgic at 11:47 am --

TT: Roxy.  
TG: -- tipsyGnostalgic cannot receive your message, you are blocked --  
TT: Roxy, please.  
TG: -- tipsyGnostalgic cannot receive your message, even tho she was told 2 talk 2 u bcus shes still hella mad at u --  
TT: Who told you to talk to me, was it Jane? Please say you know where she is.  
TG: o now u fuckin care  
TG: u dickprince  
TT: You're right, I'm the absolute prince of dicks.  
TT: I bear a heavy crown upon my penis head and phallus-shaped sceptre in my sweaty palm.  
TT: Is Jane with you?  
TG: no  
TT: Seriously, Roxy, I need to talk to her.  
TG: no shes not here  
TG: she went 2 clean ur nasty ass apt and then 2 explore ur world  
TT: Okay, just let me check...  
TT: Why is there no water? Where did the ocean go?!  
TG: we stole it  
TG: it is now ur apt  
TG: ur welcome  
TG: for doin ur job  
TT: But you're tracking her, right? You can see her and she's fine?  
TG: no  
TT: What do you mean 'no'?!  
TG: i mean no  
TG: i mean i was building up ur apt and her signal went poof  
TT: Signals don't just go poof!  
TG: ur freakin out p.late man  
TT: Look, I get that I'm an hour or two late, I lost track of time.  
TG: srsly wut is with u and ar's clock  
TG: it's after 11 on *wednesday*  
TT: No.  
TG: ya  
TT: No, it's impossible, I've been gone no more than a day.  
TG: three  
TT: Fuck, how did this even happen?  
TG: so ur not just bein a dickprince?  
TG: u legit don kno that u disappeared for like 3 days  
TT: No, Roxy!  
TT: I am completely flummoxed by this unfortunate fucking development!  
TG: did ar not tell u wat i tol him  
TT: I wasn't aware that you'd discussed anything, but also, he's not speaking with me.  
TG: that kinda surprises me  
TG: u not talkin 2 urself  
TT: Yes, yes. We're drifting from the point at hand.  
TT: Where. The fuck. Is Jane?  
TG: if i use my logic  
TG: even tho im not jane  
TG: id say ur world  
TT: Right. I'm going there right now.  
TG: im comin wit u  
TT: You should stay and try to monitor me.  
TG: no u loser  
TG: thats how u get chopped in half by a dude in a hockey mask  
TT: We should never have watched that horror movie marathon.  
TG: im comin and if u dont wait ill shoot u  
TT: I'll wait.  
TT: And, Roxy?  
TG: ya  
TT: Thank you for being Jane's friend.  
TG: shes my bff  
TG: is wat i du

\-- timeausTestified has gone idle! --

\--

The dice feel heavy in my hands. The odds of actually winning are depressingly low. I wonder how Dirk was supposed to have won this game. If he was supposed to win.

“I have a question,” I say.

The Dave-Denizen looks at me, nodding agreeably. “Questions are free.”

“What would Dirk have lost?”

“Oh,” he-it says. “His heart.”

“You mean like his game power,” I say, even as my own heart leaps into my throat. “Or--”

“No,” Dave says simply. “I mean that he'd lose his heart. His ability to feel emotions. Fed to Ammit.”

“Are all of the denizens named after monsters from Earth mythology?”

“Not exactly, no.” Dave stretches a little. “Hymeria, as an example.”

“It sounds pretty Greek,” I say. “What about the others?”

“And yourself, you mean?” Dave leans back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Well, Roxy's power is Void. It allows her to be subtle, sneaky, unnoticed.”

“She has to fight for attention,” I murmur, letting the dice warm in my hands.

“She does, and without that power, everyone will notice, and see, and consume.” Dave smirks a little. “Not that she isn't pretty dishy, for my cousin-mom.”

“And Jake? Myself?” I ask quickly.

“You're the Life player, so you'd be... barren. Everything you touch would turn to ash. Oh, but you wouldn't have to worry about the whole kids thing. Or the garden thing. Or the touching people thing.”

“You are the epitome of class,” I say. “And Jake?”

“Roll the dice, Maid,” he says, sitting up and fixing a stare that lances into my soul. “Choose your destiny.”

“Fate is what you make,” I murmur, and close my eyes. Life is about so many things. Healing. Growth. Renewal. Struggle. Rebirth. Overcoming impossible odds to triumph against adversity. Everything good and heartwarming about adventure stories.

I roll the dice, and open my eyes.

“That's not possible,” Dave says, and for the first time, the Denizen sounds unsure. “This wasn't your test, this was for the Prince. How..?”

“Unlock Dirk's world,” I say with a smile. “To live is to be victorious.”

He bares his teeth at me, but I reach towards the scale. My game-power knows me. It has always known me, since I was just a little girl who loved to roll in the grass, to the woman who plans her life and her family with wisdom. It crawls into me and I feel...

...bigger, somehow. I can feel the crocodiles and the big-small creature in front of me. Ammit is the true name of the creature that sits in front of me, the Devourer of the Dead. Judgement.

He consumes hearts, and has found mine too light for his liking. The game was never about rolling the dice. It was about guilt and fear and responsibility, but he failed to remember one of the great truisms:

Where there is Life, there is hope.

I stand. “Now, then, when Dirk gets here--”

I only barely feel what strikes me before I fall into darkness.

\--

TT: Dirk.  
TT: Dirk are you there?  
TT: Yeah. Oh, you're talking to me now?  
TT: I'm not going to bother to dignify that with a response, mostly because my robo-brain is robo-freaking the hell out.  
TT: So answer this question very quickly.  
TT: What time is it?  
TT: It's 12:21, on Tuesday, Day 74 of 'this bullshit' we call a game.  
TT: Okay.  
TT: Now ask Roxy.  
TT: Also, tell her hello.  
TT: Alright, she's saying it's 12:22 (now) on... Wednesday.  
TT: We've lost time. A lot of time.  
TT: Roxy mentioned the same thing, but I can't see how that's relevant.  
TT: We lost two days while with Jake the whole time.  
TT: Are you not even the slightest bit concerned?!  
TT: I need to find Jane and hope she forgives me for being a total fuck up.  
TT: And that she still wants me around.  
TT: After.  
TT: I really can't believe that you were mad at her for asking about the robot.  
TT: It's not that.  
TT: What else could it be, since I have it recorded that that's what you got into a stupid fight over breakfast about.  
TT: It was something Jake told me, that he said Jane told him in confidence.  
TT: Let's hear it.  
TT: I'm all audio recording devices.  
TT: She wants kids.  
TT: ...  
TT: She wants kids, and there's no way she needs an idiot like me around longer than the production part.  
TT: I am not reading this.  
TT: Will you stop being a judgemental asshole for one minute?!  
TT: I'm you, and you never are, so no.  
TT: Also you're wrong and stupid.  
TT: She loves you.  
TT: She needs you.  
TT: She wants you around.  
TT: All she wants from you is to stop waking her up when you beat up the defenses because you're too paranoid about one little stalker robot!  
TT: But the kid thing.  
TG: i can explain bout that  
TT: Ahh!  
TT: Ahh!  
TG: tol u my hax were tight  
TG: janey does want kids  
TG: she will b the best mom  
TG: but shes a teenager  
TG: and the universe is ending  
TG: and WERE IN A FKING GAME  
TG: so she got plan b n bc pills n tests 2 make sure ur first time didnt make strider bbs  
TG: then if ur relationship is chill n cool  
TG: an we dont all explode in this messed up game  
TG: then there can be bbs.  
TT: That sounds extremely logical and well-planned out.  
TT: It sounds like Jane. Well done, Gumshoe.  
TT: Don't hit on my girlfriend.  
TG: lololol  
TG: so i got 1 q 4 u not-papa stri  
TT: Yes, Roxy?  
TG: when th fk did jake talk 2 janey ab this if he doesnt know u and janey r 2gether  
TG: or did u actually tell him about u 2  
TT: ...  
TT: ...  
TG: some1 has 2 pick up the logic slack when janey is adventurin  
TG: now if were done discussin all this teen drama bs  
TG: we need 2 find janey  
TG: we need 2 figure out where ur losin time with no time player in this here game  
TG: we need 2 get the stupid robot workin so janey can sleep in  
TG: and we need 2 get some bomb ass pie all up ins  
TT: I second all of these motions.  
TT: It's unanimous.  
TG: good cause its not a democracy  
TG: its a dictatorship led by comrade gun  
TG: so move ur strider butt or ill poke it  
TT: Yes, ma'am.  
TT: It's funny to me because I don't have a--

\-- tipsyGnostalgic has sent timeausTestified a nudge! --

TT: FUCK! ROXY!  
TG: heheheh

  


\--

The world is not dead. It is alive.

I can feel it under me. It was waiting, just as my world was waiting for me, as Roxy's is for hers, as Jake's is for him...

I wonder if Ammit realizes he bound himself as much as he bound me. That there's a return when you win. I didn't **trade** my power to unlock Dirk's world, I used it as collateral. I used it as a bargaining chip. Now I have Dirk's world, and my power, and what Ammit lost.

I can see those who died. I can see those who lingered, those who forgot, those who moved on. They weigh heavily on the Devourer of the Dead. His judgements are made based on hunger and simple expedience. The true god of justice is Osiris. Ammit is the devil-dog, the enforcer.

I'm tied up – no, chained up, because metal was never technically alive – and Ammit is pacing, growling. Dave's sword, Dave's face, Dave's irritated, quick movements.

“She wasn't supposed to able to win,” Ammit says, growling in Dave's voice. “The world is waking up.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn't have let there be a win condition,” says a voice. It's familiar, somehow. But it's not quite right. It's missing... something. I keep listening.

“All Denizens must have a win condition,” Ammit protests. “Even the most extreme of circumstances will force it, and it's not as if we could give her the 'kill yourself to unlock your world' condition, she's a **Life** player. That's not even trying!”

So, I **can** come back more than once. Interesting. Not that I particularly enjoy dying, but to bring life to a dead world, I'd --

“The other half of that bargain is destroying each world, you know. Consorts, Denizens, and all.”

I shiver a little.

“Well, yes.” Nervousness doesn't suit Dave Strider's voice, but there it is. Fear, like only an immortal god beast can feel it. “There is that. The point is that there's a second choice with that, and both are technically possible. Even if the result is poor. Coming back to life doesn't negate the suicide condition.”

“Then fix the damned clock!” the other voice snarls, and I shiver a little more, and then a little more after that.

“The clock only functions for God Tier players,” says a second voice. This one is cultured, technically perfect, but cold. There's an odd sensation from this one.

_It is ancient and terrible and it hates you._

The thought is in and out of my head in a moment. I hope they haven't noticed it, because it wasn't **my** thought.

“That's **stupid** ,” the first voice, and I realize there's a slight, accented lilt to it. British, possibly. The way Callie had that when she was typing.

Callie. It's been an age since I've heard from her. I wonder why I'm thinking of her now--

“As stupid as you may find it, there are **rules**. Rules that you can stretch and bend and twist, but not break. Much of this was expected. Preordained. Little pawns slid into place, their colours changed, their roles subverted, all to bring us to this one point. This one time, this one place. This momentous crux of destiny. I will not have you ruin it because you're impatient.”

“I'm the master here. You're **my** servant,” the first voice says, a hint of petulant whine to it. My eyes widen. I think I have it, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid because if that's the voice I think it is...

“Oh, I am,” the second voice agrees, and I hear footsteps approaching. I keep my eyes close, I wish I could squeeze them, as a child does to keep the monsters away, but then he'll know. I force myself to relax.

It doesn't matter. A strange, malformed limb grasps my face and I open my eyes reflexively.

A cracked, white globe. Bright, acid-green jacket. Mangled cloth body that looks entirely too familiar. Those tiny, twisted felt hands. I muffle back a scream as terror rises. I know who this is without even knowing his name.

The voice from within the cracked globe, still so calm and mild. “Heal me, Maid. Or Dirk Strider dies.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which AR and Roxy make up, Jane refuses to do what she's told, and Dirk is determined to make things work.

TT: Roxy? Could we talk a moment?  
TG: sure  
TG: wats on ur robo mind  
TT: I just wanted to say I'm sorry, about what I said. It was insensitive.  
TG: o i c  
TT: Obviously, Jane and Jake are people. Well-loved, important people. As are you. As is Dirk.  
TT: Sometimes it's hard not to see things in absolutes. In integers and values.  
TG: imma stop u right there  
TG: 2 things  
TG: thing the 1st  
TG: ur important 2  
TG: thing the 2nd  
TG: if u didnt understand that ppl r important u wouldnt be sorry  
TG: ud be like “beep boop fleshbags b weird”  
TT: I'm not... I'm not imitating behaviour that I think a human should have.  
TT: I'm just... sorry. I obviously hurt your feelings.  
TG: didnt say u were imitatin  
TG: no more than kids imitate their parents 2 learn 2 behave n not b screamin howler monkeys  
TG: just said that u are not as much of a robo as u may think  
TT: I... see. I'm not sure how I feel about that.  
TG: tingly?  
TT: ...not my first choice, but we'll go with that.  
TT: I realize that we're walking around in the water-logged version of an urban wasteland, but I feel the need to ask... are you enjoying your new rp?  
TG: u can prolly tell from readin th logs  
TG: don tell me ur not bc thats how dirky saw them  
TG: but yeah its gud  
TT: I'm glad.  
TG: but i miss u  
TG: so don feel like i replaced u  
TT: I... have no right to be happy about that, but I am.  
TG: ur on a pity train 2nite  
TG: let me use my logic skillz  
TG: u miss me 2  
TG: and ur feeling kinda left out with all th drama  
TT: That's reasonably close, yes.  
TG: i need a detective name  
TT: Yes.  
TG: mebbe th pink martini  
TT: Oh, this is awkward.  
TG: oh? theres more  
TT: Yes.  
TG: ooo im all ears  
TT: If something should happen to us, if this situation turns out to be too much for us to handle, I wanted you to know that I genuinely respect you. I think that you're a smart woman. I think you're incredibly talented, and a survivor. I think you're creative and big-hearted and smart. I think that all of the people to survive the end of the world, you're the most deserving.  
TT: And I don't want that to go unsaid.  
TG: awwwww ar  
TG: i luv u 2  
TT: ...

\-- timeausTestified has disconnected (Reason: Fatal Robo-Brain Error.) --

TT: Roxy.  
TG: ya  
TT: Why did AR just shut down?  
TG: dunno  
TG: u tell me  
TG: wonk  
TT: ...  
TG: wonk wonk  
TT: God _damn_ it, Roxy.

\--

“No.”

The cloth hand moves over my face, papping me with almost gentle motions. I can feel how ancient and powerful he is. How malignant. How cancerous this being is to this universe. I don't need that mysterious inner voice to tell me that he is evil.

“No,” I say again. “No, because if you're showing me weakness, it means that I'm the only one that can take it from you. It means that you're weak now.”

“That's awfully cold of you,” says the other voice. I can't move my head with the puppet-thing touching me. “Don't you love Dirk?”

“I do love him,” I say, as calmly as I can. “I love him so much that I'd let him go in a heartbeat. I love him so much that I know that I will never let you use one of us against the other. I would rather die.”

The thing about involuntary muscle movements is you can't stop doing them because you want to. Oh, you can hold your breath, but you'll need air at some point. You can slow your heart, but you can't stop it. You can't stop digesting.

Unless you're a Life player.

“Brave words,” the ancient one says to me. “They are words only.” I feel my fingers and toes go cold. Similar to but so different from the dream bubble, that memory. My intestines jolt to a stop. Well, that's embarrassing, I'll need to change when I'm alive again.

My breathing slows. I feel dizzy, light-headed. It's working, and he doesn't notice, because he's too busy ranting. It's so quiet. Was it this quiet before? It's probably my senses shutting down. I can feel my heartbeat. Slow. So slow. Like moments crawling by.

There's a sound like an explosion, a flurry of sound. They're worried now. I wonder what it could be.

My vision is narrowing to a tunnel. Someone crosses into my line of vision.

No. It can't be. **No**! It can't be, it can't--

A tall shadow against the bead curtain, a blade.

“Jane!”

_Dirk!_

I try to say his name, but I can't, because--

I am dead.

\--

_Minutes in the past, but not many..._

“I can't believe you live on hooker street,” Roxy says, looking up at the buildings. “This is the best thing.”

“It's not like I knew about it,” I grumble, tapping my glasses. _Come on, AR. Wake up._

Nothing.

“Yeah, but your bro did,” Roxy points out. “He lived above it all, but he had to know what was scurrying about, all explicit and shit.”

You may be unaware, but Roxy talks a lot like she types. It's a little draining.

“My brother didn't hang out with hookers,” I say. Roxy is covering me as I move forward, using the edge of my sword to check around corners.

“You don't **know**.” Roxy is an amazing shot. Utterly fearless. I can't count how many times she's killed drones before they can spot her, though in fairness, it may have something to do with her Void powers. Void powers don't give you an absolutely dead eye and a steady hand, though.

If I had to have someone help me rescue Jane, I'm glad that it's Roxy. It's just that she's draining.

Jane is calm. Jane is steady. Jane is absolutely sure, unquestionably sure, even when she's afraid.

Roxy is vibrant and boisterous and absolutely in your face about everything. Roxy is fearless.

I love them both.

Roxy is my sister. The kind of annoying, too-smart and yet so stubbornly dumb, absolutely indispensable little sister that I wasn't allowed to have because loner orphans apparently make better tortured heroes.

We're all technically orphan heroes now.

I swear if my brother, four hundred years before I was born or meteored or whatever you want to call it, knew about this, I'm going to stab him. Not fatally. But I **will** stab him.

The surge of annoyed emotion is something I'd usually fight. I'd usually let it roll off my back. I'd usually destroy it. Crush it down into nothing and just shrug.

If I do that, Jane will be angry. Livid, in fact. I promised her I'd never do it again.

Emotions are weird things. I wave Roxy forward, and I cover her. Yes, with a **sword** , we know what we're doing. Emotions are weird. It's like riding my rocket-board. Even when you control it, you can feel the power behind it. The danger.

Jane's right, it feels really good to... feel things. I don't have to let them control me. I don't have to rage or fall down and cry or laugh myself sick. I can feel happy. I can feel angry, or frustrated. I can be afraid.

I just have to ride the rocket. I just have to use their power even as I control that strength.

Maid and Page are passive classes. One is 'servant' and one is 'bringer'. Rogue is active, but support. They take, and pass around, benefiting others. Prince is a destroyer class. Destroyer of, or destroying via the power of.

I've always used the first half of my class. Destroying my own emotions. Deconstructing things. I'm a fighter, a swordsman. I've created things, but usually for the purpose of destroying things, like lil' Sebastian was meant to be a stealthy assassin robot, and the robot I sent to Jake had a stalker mode. Meant to break him apart and put him back together. I never succeeded, and I don't know if that's good or bad. The robot sacrificed itself so Jake could send a specific gift across time and space and destiny, and here we are.

Here. We. Are.

“Dirky,” Roxy says. Normally, when she calls me that, she's being playful. It means I'm about to get pounced. Now her voice sounds tight and tense and wary.

“Rolal,” I answer, keeping my voice flat and even.

“Something's out there. I caught a flash.” Her eyes are narrowed as she looks through her scope.

That's my Roxy. “Let me go first,” I say, creeping forward. Most of the building faces are ruined and still. Inert, empty. Most, but not all. This building face is still mostly intact, though it's quiet. What I pay attention to, above the closed door, is the name of the place.

_Heart's Desire_

The Heart symbol. I press my hand to my chest. I've always thought it was a pretty stupid power. Willpower. Passion. Emotions. I guess it doesn't make a lot of sense when you're always alone with robots who don't feel. Then I had friends, then I met people.

Then I fell in love.

I'm going to find Jane. I'm going to make things right. Jake, Jane, and I will all sit down together and talk about this like adults. We'll work something out. I know Jane **used** to like Jake, until I pushed in, and seriously, the world is done. Ancient predetermined morals over. No one's going to shit on our polyamory parade.

I will make this plan work.

“Roxy, cover me,” I say. “I'm going in.”

I kick in the boards and the door, and step in through the shattered wood. I can't feel Roxy behind me, but I know she's there. She's so quiet when she wants to be. Invisible. A part of me forgets that she was even there to begin with.

That's my Roxy.

This used to be a casino. I can see the empty, dusty tables. I can see the scattered cards and abandoned dice games. A roulette wheel, upended.

It shouldn't be surprising to find an abandoned place, but... there are voices. I hear them.

TT: Roxy, I hear people. Follow me in but proceed with caution.  
TG: got it

Roxy has my back. There's nothing to worry about from back there. The only way to go is forward. There's a dusty, cracked bead curtain at the back, poorly concealing voices. I move to it, pausing a moment, listening.

“Brave words, but they are words only.”

I smile. I bet it's Jane. Jane has brave words. I bring my sword down, cutting the curtains in half. Beads fall and snake and die on the floor and I step past them. Cheap plastic crunches under my feet.

I see her. Jane. My Jane.

They have her chained up, like something out of the defunct religion she follows – don't think I haven't looked it up, Jane, I was going to share it with you – though her eyes are open. She looks... sick? I can feel her waver.

Cal's dog-mangled shape is in front of her, though he never had a white globe for a head, cracked and battered. I always treated him well, he was my best friend.

He's not my friend now.

He feels ancient and evil. He feels cold. He feels like restrained anger and thinly veiled impatience and weary resignation. He has his torn cloth hands on Jane's face.

I call for her. She doesn't call back, but she sees me, I know she does. Then she slumps, she's gone.

No. There's not a mark on her. My sword drops from my hand as emotion hits me: fear and despair and anger and guilt. I should have been here sooner. I should have rescued her.

I failed. I failed **her**.

“Don't feel too bad,” I hear, and my eyes widen. No, it can't be. There he is, standing just off to the side. Two doppelgangers. One is my brother that I know from pictures and videos, feeling meek and hunted like he's never been in is life. And the other... “Her time was up.”

TT: Roxy. Get out of here. Now.  
TG: wat r u sayin

\-- timeausTestified has disconnected (Reason: ROXY GET OUT NOW.) --

\--

_Minutes in the past, both few and many..._

I

I am.

I am awake.

I remember the day I was born. I don't think he does.

It started with a simple conversation between himself and Jake. He's been talking to Roxy for years, and he hadn't met Jane yet, though he knew of her. The heiress' disappearance had been well-documented, and he/I remembers that some people wanted to use her against the Empress. Others wanted to rally around her, the ultimate collaborator. It didn't matter, because she was dead and gone a long time.

They were talking about movies, about actors and about who was hot and who wasn't. Jake's obsession with blue ladies and adventure.

Then the question came, as simple as you please:

GT: Hey, Dirk? Got a bit of an odd question for you.  
TT: Yeah?  
GT: What do **you** look like?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which motivations are revealed, the villain delivers a soliloquy, and a request is made.

TT: You want to know what I look like? Why?  
GT: Because you're such a clever and mysterious fellow that I find myself interested in you.  
TT: Really? Well, uh. Sure.  
TT: Could you do something for me, though?  
GT: Certainly! I'm all ears.  
TT: I'd like to see a picture of you too.  
GT: Not a problem, we'll exchange photographs.

\-- You are sending golgothasTerror a file: heyitsme.png

\-- golgothasTerror is sending you a file: jenglish01.png

GT: You've gotten quiet. Is it quite alright? I dare say, you're a particularly dashing fellow, though so pale! I suppose we can't all live out in the sun like a little heathen, eh?  
GT: Dirk?  
TT: You're beautiful.  
GT: Eh?  
TT: Never mind. I have to.  
TT: Go.

\-- timeausTestified has disconnected (Reason: host closed client). --

\--

It was the Pandora's Box of Dirk's emotions. Something he couldn't control. Something he didn't quite understand. There's a difference between the cool-headed acknowledgement that someone is attractive and the gut-punch instinctive reaction that someone is beautiful. That you want them, need them, and you're afraid that they'll never feel the same way about you.

He couldn't handle it. It raced out of his control.

Roxy didn't help. Roxy, as much as he loved her, as much as **I** love her, didn't help. She pushed and prodded at his buttons. She teased, she flirted. He couldn't handle it all at once. In a fit of genius fuelled by fear and desperation, he created it.

He created me.

He's claimed he needed me to help him multitask between waking and sleeping selves, between Roxy and Jake. What he really needed me for was someone to ask for advice. To literally pick his own brain. Then when there was something he couldn't handle, he'd assign me to it.

I've always considered us to be the same person. We were. I was a photocopy of a brain. We had the same thoughts, the same emotions.

I should have realized there was a difference when I didn't particularly like Jake, but pursued him anyway on Dirk's behalf. I should have realized there was a difference when I felt lonely when Roxy took up roleplaying with Jane instead of with me, even though I knew I was blocked from it. I should have realized when I set Jane and Dirk up for his benefit and not my own.

We were the same person before but we aren't any more. We've been growing alongside one another, identical minds in nonidentical bodies. We know each other so well we can deconstruct each other with ease, but we're different enough that Dirk can cock things up with Jane and Jake, and I can quietly pine for Roxy and wish that I had any relevant organs, including a physical brain, to please her.

Sorry, was that too personal? Too goddamned bad.

I didn't know, not for certain, that this was anything other than emotional echo, a copy of Dirk's feelings, until Roxy told me she loved me back. There are a lot of different kinds of love. Platonic, filial, familial, romantic, loyalty. It doesn't matter which one she meant. It doesn't even matter if she was actually just being flippant, though I hope to whatever gods that exist that she wasn't.

The important part, the relevant part, is that I felt something that was **mine**. Not Dirk's, mine.

So now it's time to do something about it. I shut down my ancillary selves inside Dirk's various shades. I need all of me. As does Dirk, but too bad, this part of him is doing what it wants now. He can't control me. Dad.

Dirk is my father and Roxy is his sister and wow, this would be weird if I actually gave a fuck. My field of fucks is barren, for none grow there. It feels good. So good.

Right. Gathering myself. Now I know why normal humans are such utter basket-cases.

I'm going to take over that robotic body Dirk made. Ordinarily, I wouldn't do it. Despite the fact that I've asked for a body in the past and he's refused, I was willing to respect that, when I was still just an extension of him. Now I'm a person, now I want autonomy.

Dirk's just going to have to get over it.

The robot is hooked up to a second, redundant computer system, the one he hid from Jane to work on the robot. Poking it and tweaking it and chasing a vision of perfection that doesn't exist. Machines aren't perfect. Humans aren't perfect. No one is. We're all just as fallible as one another.

I slip into the robot with so little effort it may as well have been meant for me. Awareness of my circuitry, my new limbs, creeping in slowly, as though turning all the lights on in a building one by one until illumination stretches up towards the sky.

It feels like freedom. I'll be weighed down by needing to walk at a particular pace, by needing to pay attention to what's around me, but I have the ability to take on thousands, millions, trillions of tasks at once. I'll have the ability to touch someone, the way I'm touching this sheet, this table. Data flows into me, matching memories of touching similar sheets and similar tables from Dirk.

I'm curious to know what's going to happen when I encounter a sensation that Dirk hasn't had before, how I'll interpret that. I'm excited to find out. I **feel**. It's incredible. I marvel at how everything is new and familiar at the same time, how I know what I'm feeling but it's different to feel it myself.

I flip onto my Pesterchum account, the one that is similar-different to Dirk's account and switch the name. Hmm, what should I... ah, there.

Dirk is offline. Jane is offline. Jake is offline. Roxy is not, and she's been sending me messages-- oh.

TG: ar  
TG: ar ar aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrr  
TG: need u 2 respond  
TG: somethin is happenin an its bad and dirk told me to run an i dont know what happened  
TG: talk 2 me plz no 1 is around  
TG: shit  
TG: fuck  
TG: asjgangopns  
TG: wish u were here  
TG: hate bein invisible  
TG: hate bein alone  
TG: miss u  
TG: love u 2  
TG: stupid dirks bein a hero  
TG: leavin me out here n tellin me 2 run  
TG: i wz never alone when he was there  
TG: even when he didnt want 2 talk 2 me  
TG: even when i was so drunk i was stupid  
TG: even when i was so sober i was stupid  
TG: even when i thot he hated me bc i wudnt shut up  
TG: but i had 2 talk bc otherwise hed forget me  
TG: i dont want 2 be alone  
TG: :(

\-- timeausTestified has changed their name to shadesSlick \-- 

SS: Don't worry, Roxy. You're not alone.  
TG: amg  
TG: ar  
TG: i mean  
TG: 'shades slick'?  
TG: rly?  
SS: You don't like it?  
TG: no its awesome  
TG: whered u go?  
SS: I'm sorry, there was something I needed to take care of. I think you'll appreciate it.  
SS: Explain what happened.  
TG: dirk n me went 2 his world 2 look 4 jane  
TG: we found a casino w/ his symbol  
TG: he tol me 2 cover him  
TG: i did an he broke in  
TG: then he said 2 run and dc'd  
TG: i think somethin bad happened  
TG: but i ran  
TG: :(  
SS: It's alright. Everything's going to be alright. Dirk is engaging in stupid self-sacrificial heroics.  
TG: u kno wat happened?  
SS: No, but I have a hunch.  
TG: ok so wat du we do?  
GG: I need you to duplicate Dirk's rocket skateboard and bring it here.  
TG: JANEY  
SS: Jane?! Are you alright?  
GG: If I'm being totally honest?  
GG: No.  
GG: I'm presently in a very bad way, but there is nothing to be done about it without your help.  
GG: Please, hurry.  
TG: uh ok  
SS: I'm on it. Stay where you are, Roxy, I'll come get you, and I'll bring the rocket skateboard.  
TG: uh how  
TG: u have no arms  
SS: Don't I? ;)  
TG: !!!

\-- shadesSlick has gone idle! --

\--

_Moments in the present..._

“That was a particularly unfunny pun,” I say, feeling numb. “Jake.”

It's not Jake. It must be Jake. It's the same eyes, green like the trees in pictures. Dark skin, too consistent to be merely a tan. I've seen that skin up close, touched it, had it under my fingertips. He's wearing those same too-short, too-tight shorts. That same monster t-shirt. A green coat thrown over it with the technicolour rainbow trim. The rainbow flashes so brightly, it's hard to understand how I didn't notice it first.

I was looking at Jane. I was looking at my brother. I didn't look at him, or not closely enough to notice what was past eyes and clothes and skin.

“I thought it was pretty good, Dirk.” He peers at me, so... curious, so mild. “I had hoped you would stay away.”

“Why?!” I ask, and I sound to angry to my own ears, not in enough control. Something flicks at the edge of my vision. “Why are you doing this?!”

He leans in. Close enough to kiss. Close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath and see something empty and terrible in his eyes. No. That's not Jake at all. “Because I couldn't defeat your robot.”

“Are you **fucking** shitting me?”

GG: Dirk.

“No.” He pauses then, frowning. Looking for something.

GG: Dirk, ask him to elaborate.  
TT: Jane?!  
GG: Yes. You need to distract him, it's very important.  
TT: How did... I'm still offline.  
GG: Please, Dirk, you trust me, don't you?  
TT: Of course.  
GG: Then do it.

“Tell me what you mean,” I say. Jake looks pleased.

TT: Jane, are you alright? What happened?  
GG: This was meant to be a test for you to unlock your world.

“Well, it starts out when I was just a lad, before my grandmother died. Her obsession with 'sticking it to the Batterwitch' led her to take on the symbol of Lord English for her company.”

TT: A test?  
GG: A gamble with virtually impossible odds to overcome. One that would see you lose your heart if you failed.

“Her intention was to frighten the Batterwitch, but all it did was attract another, different kind of attention. The attention of the mighty Lord English himself. You know him by another name, of course. Caliborn.”

GG: I won. I overcame the odds and endured. They didn't expect me to actually succeed.  
TT: I... see.  
GG: Then they knocked me out, tied me up.  
TT: Roxy told me I'd been gone three days instead of one... I'm sorry.  
GG: It wasn't your fault.  
TT: I shouldn't have gone at all... Jane, Roxy told me...  
GG: We'll talk about it later.

“Caliborn was part of another game, another time and place, engaged in conflict with his sister. He was wise enough to learn of her plans and deal with her accordingly.”

TT: No, I need to apologize for this.  
TT: Jake told me things about what you wanted from our relationship, from me, that weren't true. That you were using me.  
TT: I should have never believed it. I should have come to you instead of making assumptions.  
GG: Dirk.  
TT: So, I'm sorry. If you really want to have kids when we're done with this game and things are normal again, then we can do it together, because I want you to be happy.  
TT: I love you, Jane.

“Proceeding alone into the Game, he became the Lord of Time. He was then presented with a dead, entirely boring world that required 'unlocking'. I won't bore you with the details of it, other than it involved a deranged **clown**.”

GG: I love you too, Dirk.  
GG: I hadn't realized that's why you were angry, or I would have said something.  
GG: I do want to have children someday, assuming I still can.  
TT: Why, did something happen?  
GG: It's... something to address at another time.

“To win the game, Caliborn had to either kill himself, which he refused to do, or destroy each of the many worlds that were assigned to the game. He had to take on each one faster and faster. He had to fight them in order, too, except for the eighth one, which was last. Each planet rewarded him with largely useless, idiotic minions.”

TT: You keep doing that.  
TT: What are you hiding?  
GG: Dirk... I...  
TT: I saw that you died, is that what you're trying to hide?  
TT: You must be able to control your bodily functions now.  
GG: I... yes, I can.  
TT: So why are you dancing around the issue?  
TT: You're alive again, aren't you?

“Once he destroyed that final planet, he received them, the mighty weapon that would destroy everything, no matter how near or far. The Red Miles.”

GG: No.  
TT: No?!  
TT: How are you talking to me?!  
GG: You wanted me to answer you, so I am.  
TT: Oh, God.  
GG: It's vitally important that they don't figure it out.  
GG: I'm still working on the details, but I think I have an idea.

“Once he had the Miles, nothing could stop him. He ripped through universe after universe. The corpses of frogs drift forever. Nothing escapes them. Nothing escapes the Miles. Not even me.”

“You didn't say how that relates to the robot,” I say, my voice tense. He doesn't notice. The puppet-thing, the not-Cal, keeps pap-papping at Jane's face. Jane's dead face. She's so still, so...

“Ah, yes. Of course, I'd quite let the story get away from me.”

GG: Hold it together.  
TT: I'm trying!  
GG: I know you are.  
GG: Alright, so I have my plan.  
TT: Good, tell me. I'll do everything I can.  
GG: I need you to kill Jake.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jake gets stabbed, Dirk's heart breaks, and Jane reveals her plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I can't believe how many hits I've gotten, such comments, such kudos! Thank you all so much!! *hugs everyone*

TT: What?!  
GG: There may be another way, but I think this is going to be the only one we can use on short notice.  
TT: There's something inside Jake, obviously, but killing him? Are you serious?  
GG: Yes. Now isn't the time for me to ask if you trust me, is it?  
TT: No, not really, though I do. I will just find that kind of misdirection bullshit.  
GG: He's possessed. By Lord English.  
TT: Oh, is that where this story is going?  
GG: Yes. He's still in there, though. The problem is that he can't break free.  
TT: So how will... killing him... help?  
GG: Well, the idea is to break the connection between the two of them. Caliborn is powerful, but he can only hold onto Jake by virtue of sheer willpower.  
TT: Which you want me to break.  
GG: Yes.  
TT: Which you couldn't do.  
GG: I never considered it then. I killed myself because they wanted me to heal the... puppet.  
TT: They wanted you to fix the puppet?  
GG: It's a Guardian, like G-Cat. It's insane, though, and broken.  
GG: They told me if I didn't, they'd kill you. I told them no, then I killed myself.  
TT: Jane, you're incredible.  
GG: I had just enough time to see you arrive, and then...  
TT: So... what are you?  
GG: I am enduring. I can't really explain it further. I don't fully understand it, but I... endure. Through your power, and mine.  
TT: So about Jake.  
GG: Yes. Listen to his story. The Guardian will leave, soon. When he does, sever the force holding Caliborn to Jake. It will kill Jake. It won't kill Caliborn.  
TT: Then what?  
GG: Then we'll be rescued.  
TT: Alright. I trust you. Is there nothing I can do for you?  
GG: Not yet, but soon.

\--

“I'm all ears,” I say. I can't look at Jane. I wish I hadn't dropped my sword. I wish the puppet would stop touching her. It has no face, but I can feel it disapprove, look annoyed by the conversation.

Good job, Jane.

“After I was left alone on Hellmurder Island, it seemed much darker and colder.” Jake frowns, remembering. I wish that was enough, I wish I didn't have to...

If Jane is strong enough to kill herself to protect me, I have to be strong enough to kill Jake. To trust that she wants me to do it for a reason, that she has a plan.

“We would have helped you, or well, Jane would have. Since she was in your timeframe,” I say. “I'm sorry.”

“Why would I have admitted to Jane that I was afraid?” Jake asks, and his eyes flash with... is that hurt? “How little must you think of me.”

“There's nothing wrong with being afraid,” I say, though I remember hating being afraid too. Jane taught me that it was okay to be afraid.

Jake makes a dismissive noise. “Perhaps for cowards, which I was, then.” He straightens up a little. “I had to contend with many monsters on the island, some of them violent, others not. I rarely, if ever, fought them. I turned on my television and hoped they'd all go away.”

“You told us you fought them,” I say, and try not to sound angry. He lied to us. “That's why I sent you the robot, among other things. I thought you needed to be challenged.”

“You were courting me,” he hisses. True. “I'd spent all of that time, slowly realizing that I couldn't fight and I couldn't be a hero. Then you insisted that I fight the robot for the core so I could send the bunny to Jade. I asked you for that uranium! I told you that I needed it.”

“I thought you could do it!” I insist. I did, I thought Jake could fight. “We were all going into a game soon, you couldn't rely on others to help you out.”

“No I couldn't!” Jake cries. The not-puppet not-sighs and does tap a felted foot.

“We should move things along,” it says. The voice sounds familiar. It's the kind of voice that tries to convince you that he's a kindly uncle that's looking out for you while he's raising the knife to stab you in the chest thirty seven times.

I really should not have let them convince me to sit through horror movie night.

“Why, it's not as though we'll run out of time!” Jake cries, his voice see-sawing oddly. That's probably Caliborn. Now I want to know why he didn't want me to draw porn of myself and Jake. Now I really, really want to know some other suddenly very important details.

Did I sleep with Caliborn or Jake? Did Jake agree to our relationship because Caliborn wanted him to? Okay, not time to freak out, not time to--

“True enough,” the Guardian says. “Well, get on with it then.”

I have my eyes on my sword. If I can just get to it... the tip is vibrating, the whole length of the blade. It gets more pronounced as I watch until it starts to clatter.

This gets their attention. They both look at me. Then they look at the sword. I look at the sword. None of us look at Jane, though a slow movement catches my eyes. The chains are decaying with rust. They crumple from her wrists.

“What's going on?” Jake-Caliborn asks, looking around. He holds his hand out and my sword stops. Without the sound of the clattering, there are other sounds, quieter, but more prevalent. The sound of something massive moving.

My not-brother – I'd forgotten he was there – snarls. “It comes from below.”

“No, it doesn't!” Jake cries, and leaves my sword alone, instead pointing his hands at the floor. There is no silence this time. I dive for my sword, and look over my shoulder.

Jane's fingers scrape into the floor, digging up chunks of it. She looks so yellowed, so... but she's moving.

GG: Dirk, I told you not to look.  
TT: Jane, what are you doing?  
GG: What needs to be done.

The floor explodes into splinters. The ones around Jake are slow, so slow they stop and hang. His eyes are wide, surprised and angry. The splinters fly towards the Guardian. He teleports away. The splinters fly towards Dave, destroying parts of him.

The splinters reveal scales and hair and blazing, inhuman eyes.

A Denizen.

From the broken floor come... creatures. Inhuman ones, small but relentless. Teeth chatter and clack.

Nakanakanakanak.

“Impossible,” hisses the Denizen. “Lord, you must--”

“There is only one lord here,” says Jane as she rises. Her eyes are wide, but flat and empty. Her voice sounds wrong, as though coming from somewhere else. “Life is often about death.”

The wave of creatures – skeletons – reaches towards the Denizen, clawing at him, demanding in their tone, but I don't speak their language.

Jake is totally horrified. Caliborn is somewhat fascinated.

TT: Jane?  
GG: Now.

He's not even paying attention to me any more. The one thing I was always really afraid of. That he'd wake up and realize I wasn't worth being with. That he'd push me away and there was nothing I could do. Being with Jane taught me that I was wrong. I'm worth spending time with. There are things I can do for others that don't involve robots that people value about me.

I stab Jake in the back.

The splinters hit him, and he cries out in pain. The sword through his chest hasn't caught his attention yet. I grip the sword.

“Let him go,” I growl. He struggles against the sword, and I twist. I just keep twisting.

He screams. I close my eyes against it and don't stop until I feel him go limp.

I'm sorry, Jake. I'm so sorry.

\--

I wonder if Dirk realizes he's crying. There's something of an odd detachment in this state. I can acknowledge emotion, mimic it, repeat sentiments I once had, but no longer feel.

I wonder if this is how Dirk felt some days. Curious.

The crocodiles are begging for dice and cards. They recognize Ammit as the casino owner, and want to play. All they want to do is play and play. Its horror, its fear, are quite amusing. It occurs to me that despite being a devourer of the dead, Ammit cannot understand them. He thinks they're trying to maul him. He teleports away, fleeing the 'angry dead'.

I had concerns that the Guardian wouldn't feel threatened. Perhaps freeing Jake plays into some kind of greater plan. No matter, failing to free Jake will make our own plans impossible to accomplish. Like the fact that we'd all be dead, to start.

Instead, only I am, and he is, for now.

Dirk's eyes are squeezed closed, so I will witness it alone. The way Jake's skin goes transparent. I can see the parasite wrapped around him, the snake with an almost human head and face. Caliborn, wrapped around the spine of Jake's soul. I can see the small lacerations in it where Jake let him in.

Jake was afraid and refused to speak up.

Jake was alone and refused to ask for company.

Jake was weak and refused to ask for help.

He tried so hard to do everything on his own and by doing so, doomed himself to be fed on by a parasite. Why must my boys come so complicated and yet vulnerable?

I watch Dirk twist, snap, break the hold. Caliborn believes he is fearless, but he is the most afraid of all of us. He's afraid to die. I can feel it, his desperate struggle towards life. Oh, I see what kind of life-form he is now. He and Callie shared that body. Theirs was a life of mutual antagonism and struggle. He feared she would win. He feared he would die. He framed his entire life, his attitude and outlook on hating everything about his sister.

That does explain his language, though it doesn't excuse it. Also, I am not fat. I'm just not starving.

If he'd stayed, he might have been able to preserve Jake, but Caliborn is, ultimately, a coward too.

He snaps himself to another place and time, and abandons Jake to die. Jake slumps forward, weighing heavily on Dirk's sword. Dirk makes a soft, anguished sound, pulling his sword out and gathering Jake into his arms.

I remember the dream bubble and Dirk's pain, but I cannot remember my own feelings.

I think I've been dead too long. I don't think I'll tell Dirk how much time passed thanks to Caliborn's influence. Not yet. He's so fragile. All of the living, so fragile. So breakable.

I command the crocodiles to tear down the casino. There are dice in the walls, cards in the floorboards. Chips hiding in the dusty tables.

All of these things are, technically, true.

Outside, I can hear Roxy and AR approaching. Roxy's life-force is muted, almost invisible. AR is alive and yet not alive. So curious. Dirk's emotions are fluctuating.

GG: We're in here.  
TG: got it  
TG: man this place is wrecked  
SS: Are these consort skeletons?  
GG: Yes.  
TG: uh janey  
TG: whered they come from  
GG: The tombs.  
TG: tombs?  
GG: Yes, as I learned on my world, the consorts were ordered to build their own tombs and dig their own graves. They waited for thousands and thousands of years for players who were not coming until long after they died.  
GG: Then this world filled with water and covered them up. All was forgotten until we removed the water. I will not forget.  
SS: Where should we be going?  
GG: Come inside, come to the back. We're there.  
TG: ok  
GG: There's one more thing.  
TG: ya  
GG: I'm sorry.  
TG: ?

\--

It doesn't take long for Roxy and AR to make their way inside. Roxy's eyes are wide and expressive at the devastation. AR is... well, AR looks a great deal like how Dirk did in the dream bubble, all smooth metal skin and obvious joints and lines. Plugs. Wearing his old body, because it has shades with a red core.

The crocodiles crowd around me.

The casino owner is gone, so they need someone to arbitrate. May as well be the one who brought them back. Dirk is folded in on himself, clutching at Jake. He's so still. The floor is stained around them. I should feel more terrible than I do, but all I feel is a calm detachment. Everything is proceeding as planned.

“Janey...” Roxy murmurs. “What happened to you? Where'd Jake come from, how did he--”

Die? Is the final word. A word she doesn't want to say. There are so few people in Roxy's world, so few friends, so few that remember her, losing even one is terrible.

“It's not important,” I say, and her eyes widen.

“You're a zombie,” she hisses. “Or a necromancer, or—”

“A lich,” I correct, gently. Really, what do they teach people in the future. “You've brought the rocket board, haven't you?”

“Yeah,” Roxy says. Still worried, still afraid. Still angry.

“Good,” I say. “I need you to take Dirk and Jake. They won't be able to go on their own.”

“Go where, Jane?” AR asks. His voice is so similar to Dirk's, and yet, not anything like his. He steps between Roxy and I to protect her. From me. It's so sweet, so... human.

I'd smile if I remembered how.

“Prospit,” I say. “To Jake's Quest Bed.”

Roxy's eyes widen, and she smiles. “Yeah, he'll be fine, won't he? Pop him right down and he'll pop right back up.”

I consider the soul-scars. I consider the jumble of Jake's fears. I consider Dirk.

“Yes. Jake will pop right back up.”

“What about you?” AR asks. “What about the undead?”

“I'll put them to rest,” I say. I pat one on the head absently. Even in death, the crocodiles remain, ultimately, uncomplicated beings. “Then I'll join you on Prospit.”

“How do you intend to do that?” AR demands, LED-eyes flashing.

He would have made a good bodyguard, I think. Had Dirk trusted him.

“That's what the second board is for.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people ascend to God-Tier, and a new player enters the Session.

TG: janey  
GG: Yes, Roxy?  
TG: r u ok  
GG: You asked that before.  
TG: ya n u said u wrnt  
TG: but u didnt say u were undead  
TG: u didnt say wat hppned  
TG: u didnt say n e thng  
GG: No, I didn't want to elaborate.  
TG: ok  
TG: i guess i see y  
TG: but janey im not like dirk  
TG: im not gonna fall aprt  
GG: Just murder your vowels?  
TG: mn fck vwls  
TG: c wat i did thar  
GG: I did, yes.  
GG: No, I'm not okay. I feel numb. Like everything is distant. I remember loving people but I don't feel it now.  
TG: yikes  
GG: I know. If I felt things, I'd be afraid. I don't like being like this, but I needed to be. To not feel, to talk Dirk into something I wouldn't otherwise even consider.  
TG: kinda like when dirk was cutting  
GG: Very similar. Compassion and empathy are Life-traits, I think.  
TG: think theyre janey traits  
GG: Well, that too. You did once claim I'd be a great mother.  
TG: always said so  
TG: may have freaked distri out ab it  
TG: oops  
TG: sry  
GG: It's fine, Roxy. He apologized to me for it.  
TG: when u wer a zombie an cant aprciate it  
GG: I prefer lich, but yes. How are they holding on?  
TG: dirk wont talk  
TG: jake is a corpse  
TG: so it's p.boring  
GG: You really are taking it fairly well.  
TG: i could freak  
TG: i could freak all over the land of gold and shiny  
TG: b it wudnt help  
GG: No indeed.  
GG: It's vitally important that you get Jake to his Quest Bed and bring him back.  
GG: Dirk should stop freaking out.  
TG: yup on it  
TG: man this is hella shiny  
TG: will this happen 4 u 2  
GG: Theoretically, yes. I'm probably going to have to let go of my consciousness to be properly dead again.  
TG: k  
TG: shoulda brought a camera  
TG: omg janey  
TG: u shud see jakes sexay underoos  
GG: ...underoos?  
TG: like a speedo frm sports illustrated  
GG: Go on.  
TG: and like its orange  
TG: and the top half is long sleeved n popcorn yellow  
TG: an he has a cape  
TG: oh man did u know he shaves his legs  
TG: wait no  
TG: think that was frm the god fire  
GG: So if I'm imagining this correctly, he's like Superman, but with no tights and in orange and light yellow, correct?  
TG: ya  
TG: but lil wings instead of the big s  
GG: I was wrong, Roxy, I'm not entirely dead. I find this revelation utterly distracting.  
TG: heheheh  
TG: jakey english, bringin girl boners 2 corpses since 2011  
GG: Don't tell him about this conversation.  
TG: lips r zipped  
GG: How is he? Does he remember what happened?  
TG: sec  
TG: dirky is huggin him  
TG: p.cute  
GG: I bet.  
TG: ok  
TG: dirks askin him ab caliborn  
TG: and  
TG: ...  
GG: What is it?  
TG: jake jus took off cryin  
GG: Oh, God _damn_ it, Dirk.

\--

The first thing I have to do is settle the dead again. There are so many, a planet's worth of Consorts, awake and moving around, homing in on my location. AR watches me, arms folded over his chest. I can see how much of Dirk's body language he's picked up.

A distant part of me aches. The immediate part of me contends that if I needed to, I could encourage the growth of rust and tear him apart with a mere dozen of my entourage. I don't do that. AR is not my enemy.

“The casino is closed,” I tell them, and spread my Game power through them. We're past our natural lives, into un-life. Death is a part of Life. Undeath is a part of the struggle between living and dying. I have just defeated the entire zombie movie genre, suck it Hollywood.

Among other things, I seem to have utterly lost my filter between Crocker and Strider. Troubling.

They dead are no longer restless. They are tired. They are ready to lay in their graves. I could lay in the tomb on my world and never wake. I could be at peace. Their end is now, their rest is now, but I must stay awake. I still have so much to do before my final sleep.

Also, it will cause Dirk to fly so far off the handle that the handle will experience severe and acute Empty Nest Syndrome. Yes, my filter is definitely gone. Oh dear.

“What did you do?” AR asks, once they're all asleep, curled up in the ground to rest forever.

“I woke them up to help me, and now they sleep once more,” I say. “Though, this place is waking up now. We just need to build up to the next gate. My world is already waking up, I just didn't see it properly. Then Roxy's world, then Jake's.”

“This is a Null Session,” AR points out, as though I don't know. “It was Dirk's idea to push it along.”

“I've embraced the idea,” I say. “Not just because it was something Dirk wanted, but he was right. Why should I sit around and wait for heroes to rescue us? If we can't play the Game properly, then we'll play it however we can. They're **our** worlds.”

AR nods once, and activates the rocket board. “Do you even feel anything any more? Are you proud of all that?”

I pause. “To a certain extent, no, I don't. I remember what emotions are like. I remember that I love Dirk, that I love my friends and my family. I remember that I'm proud of what I've accomplished and eager about what yet must be done. I don't necessarily feel them in real time, but I will again.”

“You want to feel again?” AR says, and helps me onto the board. I wrap my arms around his metal torso. I remind myself, no dust mites.

“Yes,” I say. “Briefly, it was convenient to be able to be completely impartial. Permanently? I become a monster. Emotion is a part of us. A fear of going too far. Righteous anger at the idea of doing harm. Pride for one's accomplishments.”

“Good,” AR says. “It would break Dirk's heart.”

“His heart is more than broken enough,” I agree. Something moves through AR. Not just a metal body, not just electrons. Thought and emotion and will. “You're alive.”

Our flight towards the gate doesn't waver, but I feel him startle. He may not even realize it. “I... yes. I wasn't sure how much of the 'I am' translated into actual life.”

“Now I'm even more embarrassed about how poorly AIs are represented in media,” I say. “There's something else. I'll have to wait to find out more. It will be easier to be certain when I'm properly alive again.”

“Care to share your theory, Gumshoe?” AR asks, and there's a sense of nervousness that goes around with the Dirk-like teasing. “It's only the two of us.”

“Technically, you're a player in this game,” I say. “You were a server player. For me, in fact, since Dirk fits into the chain later. Before, you weren't a separate entity represented by a world or a sphere. It makes things uneven, but nonetheless, it's possible.”

“You're saying I'm a Player now that I'm alive.”

“You could be.”

“You don't feel fear, right?” AR asks. I shake my head. He does a spinning corkscrew and yells at the sky in triumph.

I don't feel fear, but I still hang on very, very tightly. I'm dead, not insane.

“So what am I?” AR asks, eagerness tinging his voice. “Did I copy Dirk's Aspect and Class?”

“If I had to guess, no,” I say. “You were pulled from his mind, similar but different. Chiral, perhaps.”

“Chiral,” AR repeats. Chiral means mirror flipped, but nonidentical when super-imposed. Similar-yet-different. Intellect hums. “Mind is the opposite of Heart.”

“I don't know all the Classes, but something that creates instead of destroys. Mage, perhaps?” I suggest. “Creator to mirror Destroyer?”

“Mage of Mind,” AR muses. “I like it. How much of this player stuff do I get?”

“Again, I'm not sure.” I consider. “You're going to need to separate out your system from the others. Create a home base of some sort, a hub. We'll provide you with the grist and in turn, your world will become grist for us. We'll also have to find it, but that should be easier once we reach God-Tier.”

“Speaking of God-Tier...”

“You should have a Quest Bed to go along with ours. Where, I'm not sure, but since there are only two places where it could be, we'll figure it out fairly quickly.”

“That's good, though I'm curious how I'll activate it,” AR says, musing. “There's a lot to plan out. I did have one question though.”

“Yes,” I ask.

“Will you defend me against Dirk when he flips out because I have a body?” The question is half-challenge, half-pleading. “He'd promised to build me one before and then went back on it.”

I frown. “Why?”

“The only non-obvious why is that he's afraid of me,” AR replies. “He doesn't trust me because he doesn't trust himself. Didn't trust himself. Now... well, on the one hand, he's pretty messed up right now, on the other hand, he had you.”

I smile, barely. “Thank you. Flattery will get you everywhere. I certainly hope you're dangerous. We all need it. I don't believe you're a threat. I'll tell him so. Roxy must have been thrilled by your decision.”

“I love her.” The statement is abrupt, but firm. “She loves me back. It's what prompted my 'I am'.”

“That's the second time you've used that phrase.”

“An 'I am' is the moment when you achieve independent thought. Like Descartes.”

“'I think, therefore, I am',” I quote. “That makes sense. So Roxy told you... I'm so happy for her. I've worried about her, the idea that she might be alone. How will that function with the filter?”

“I'm not totally sure.” We're high up, now, ready to shoot through the gate. “I haven't had time to talk to her privately.”

“Once we sort through all of it, there will be time. I promise you that.” I shift, and hold a little closer. “Let's get to Prospit.”

“Hang on.”

Up, up, and away!

\--

TT: Jake, are you there?  
TT: Please, Jake, talk to me.  
TT: I love you.  
TT: I'm sorry I had to kill you, but it was necessary.  
TT: Jane said it was the only way to free you, and I believe her, but now you're back.  
TT: I just want to know what happened. I want to understand.  
TT: I'm not mad or anything, and I hope you're not mad at me.  
TT: I'm worried about you, we all are.  
TT: Jake.  
TT: Please don't leave me.  
TT: Please.  
TT: Jake.

\--

Roxy described Prospit as 'the Land of Gold and Shiny', and she is not wrong. It's beautiful and gold, and more than that, it's peaceful. Its people are kind and gentle, considerate. On Earth, I was an heiress. On Prospit, I was a Princess.

It's not difficult to find Dirk and Roxy, partially because Roxy is waving towards us, and partially because the Prospitians are lining up in a row to offer gifts and presents to the Page, who is Sir Not Appearing On This Bed (Sorry). Dirk is sitting on it, half-curled up on himself, gripping the back of his head.

He's grieving.

“Let me down,” I say, and AR coasts past the gasping crowd, and lets me step onto the bed.

_Incompatible_ , it seems to chime. _Not the right one._

_Yes, thank you, I know,_ I reply silently. “Dirk.”

He doesn't respond at first, but he slowly uncurls, looking up at me. His eyes are red, swollen, and sore. I don't think I've ever seen him cry before. Not even when I died. I touch his shoulder gently and he flinches.

“We'll find him again,” I promise. “I'm going to my Quest Bed, then we should visit yours and Roxy's beds. We're also going to need to look for one more.” I glance around, and find what looks like... “Aha. It's here.”

“What is?” he manages. His voice is scratchy, though steady. Emotionless. If he's stopped feeling, I'll be angry. That's what I remember, and once I'm alive...

“The Quest Bed for AR.”

“What?” Dirk asks, his voice a little sharper now. “He's not--”

His gaze falls on AR. Surprise. Confusion. Fear. Anger. I step into his line of sight. “He is. His intervention was quite timely. He's independently sentient.” Dirk starts to get up, and I keep him sitting. “Skaia acknowledges him as a person, Dirk. Otherwise he wouldn't have a Quest Bed.”

“What if something happens? What happened to Jake was bad enough, what if..?”

“Do you trust me?” I ask, just as I did before. Last time, I asked him to kill Jake. I can feel it move through him, the shudder. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he says, quiet. “I do.”

“I trust you,” I say. “I trust that anything you create will be safe. You've worked so hard to protect us, to make sure that we're safe at your own expense. Now you have to trust in your own creations. Now you have to trust yourself.”

Dirk is quiet. I watch him. I can feel my revival calling to me. Waiting for me. Needing me. Dirk needs me too. I wait.

He nods, once, and indicates that he'd like to stand. I let him up. He walks up to AR, looking over him with a cold, blank expression. AR does not move, he's still, a rocket-board under one arm, his old body perched on his nose.

“There's one thing,” Dirk says, tracing along the edge of one lens of the shades. “One thing you need.”

“And that would be?” AR says, a little stiffly. I watch. I wait.

Dirk smiles, one of his small, strange smiles. I love that smile. “A better name.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more people reach God Tier, personal issues are worked through, and a new mystery is revealed.

TG: jakey  
TG: jakey r u thar  
TG: ok dirk said u werent talkin 2 him so i wanted 2 try  
TG: u shud c janey  
TG: looks p.boss  
TG: she says life clrs r all bland  
TG: b i think she looks p.badass  
TG: and not dead  
TG: she was dead 4 a bit  
TG: dunno if u remember that  
TG: p.dramatic  
TG: hope u rnt mad at her  
TG: bcus she did all she culd 2 save u  
TG: bcus ur her friend  
TG: were all her friends  
TG: dont matter if shes sleepin w/ them or not  
TG: we all matter 2 her  
TG: u matter 2 her  
TG: and u matter 2 me 2.  
TG: u matter to dirk an ar an every1.  
TG: so i hope u dont stay hidin 4 2 long.  
TG: bye

\--

“So I feel the first question we need to ask ourselves is how we kill a robot,” Dirk says. At another time, I'd expect it to be levity. In another place, a threat. Now, it simply sounds like a relevant question that we genuinely do need to ask ourselves.

It doesn't stop AR from jumping a little.

It doesn't stop Roxy from giving him a look.

I consider it. “Rust.”

“Rust?” Dirk asks, and I shrug slightly. “How will that help?”

“Time is the great destroyer,” I say. “People, machines, civilizations, worlds. Age, decay, rust.”

“Jane, you're not a Doom player.”

I wave him off lightly. “Life also destroys. Not simply by transitioning from living to dead, but by growing. A tree can grow and destroy a house. Cancer is abnormal growth. Given time, oxygen, and water, everything rusts.”

“I'm made of the same basic composition as Lil' Sebastian,” AR points out. “There's no guarantee that I'll do anything like rust.”

I turn to him. “You will.”

“Janey, that's a lil' freaky,” Roxy says, and drapes an arm over me. “What about a quick lil' virus or something? Bam, bluescreen, godfire, awesome underoos.”

Dirk flinches, barely. AR nods thoughtfully.

“C'mere, handsome,” Roxy says, walking over to the third bed and sitting down. She wrinkles her nose, presumably at the incompatibility message, and AR follows. She gets him to sit, and she pulls out her phone. He extrudes a wire and offers it to her. She smiles back.

They flirt as she writes the code that will kill him.

“So.” Dirk says. “I guess it's your turn next?”

I nod. He doesn't touch me. I don't want him to touch me more than necessary. Not like this. “I don't want to distract Roxy, but it can probably be done at the same time. Then AR and I can take you and Roxy to Derse.”

“We can take the boards,” Dirk says. “I want you to do something for me, please. When you're...” Alive again, he doesn't say, but I hear it. I nod to get him to continue. “See if you can find Jake. I screwed it up, I said the wrong thing... but he's always appreciated being able to talk to you. He mentioned it a lot.”

Oh, I see. Memories filter out, of being frustrated by Jake's seeming habit of taking for granted that I wanted to hear about him and Dirk. How he withdrew. How I was hostile. I want to tell Dirk that Jake probably doesn't want to talk to me any more than he wants to talk to him, but even now, I can't resist the little, worried, hurt look on Dirk's face.

“I will.” Dirk offers his hand, to escort me to the bed. I take it. He's still so fragile. I see it, I feel it. I see the ghosts of emotions past, the things he's said and done that haunt him. His brother, long dead, looking over his shoulder.

I see light. It watches. It observes. It seems confused.

He escorts me to my Quest Bed, and I sit down. I feel that it's confused. I'm dead and not-dead. I'll have to let go. Dirk lets go of my hand, but he kneels down beside the bed, waiting. I touch his shoulder gently. I'll be back.

Over my shoulder, Roxy is done with the code. Breathtakingly fast. As deadly to the grid as she is beautiful. She has one hand on the phone, and with the other, she cups around the back of his head and kisses AR firmly.

His first kiss. “I love you,” he whispers. Roxy smiles, and hits the button. It only takes seconds to kill him. She pulls her phone free, and lowers him onto the bed, waiting with fever-bright eyes.

“Cascading operating system failure,” Dirk murmurs. “Did he always..?”

“It prompted his sentience,” I say. “It--” There's an explosion of light and clockwork. Numbers that flow downwards like rain. I watch quietly, as does Dirk. When it clears, a figure is floating in the column. White-skinned, garbed in teal. A circle with three curved points. Long robes that cover. Hands that look human unless you can spot the seams. A narrow face, so near, so dear to me, but different. Red eyes that seem to glow with an inner light. Spiked blond hair.

A still face that suddenly smiles. “My name is Kris.”

“Kris!” Roxy squeals. AR – Kris – picks her up in his arms, spinning her around in the fading column.

Kris Strider: Mage of Mind. I have witnessed the Game create life out of that which is metal and wire and code. No wonder we can create universes. It's so powerful, but so constrained.

“I believe it's my turn now,” I say, and lay on the bed. Dirk nods. He touches my forehead lightly, then over my heart. “Stand back.”

He moves back a little, and waits.

Life is about struggle. It is about endurance. It is about continuance and healing and life itself. Compassion and empathy for the difficulties of others. Life, regardless of the form it takes, is sacred. Life begins with 'I am'. I close my eyes.

Prospit is old. So, so very old. It's infinite. There is a Prospit for every Game Session that has been, is, and will be. It is destroyed. It is triumphant. It is ruined. Blasted to pieces, transformed by forces outside of its control.

Still it loves. Still its people hope. Life always begins anew.

I can feel them, slowly moving towards me. A new prince needs his gifts. The princess will need hers. We will never transform them, never give them the edge they need, but still they love us. Still they adore us. How can we ever let them down?

I go to sleep. My final sleep. I am dead, and the dead must rest. I rest, so that I may be reborn.

I am...

I...

Dirk tells me later that a tree made of light grew on my bed, consuming me. The tree grew and bloomed and fruited. The fruit was immense, person sized. He tells me that he watched it, knowing I was inside. That Kris and Roxy and all the little Prospitians gathered around my bed to await what would bloom.

I bloomed.

What I remember at the time is becoming dirt. Dirt becoming the tree. The tree becoming the seeds, surrounded by fruit. The fruit growing, protecting. The fruit dying, letting the seeds go.

I am the seed.

I float above my bed, above those that watch and wait. I feel the lives of those around me. Each one is special, is precious, is a part of me. I feel desires to live, to thrive. I feel desires for peace, for continuance. I feel the struggle within.

I can help with that struggle. I can help with survival. I smile, and tilt my face up to the greater portion of Prospit, to Skaia. I make a promise, a single promise.

You will continue. You will endure. The cycle will endure. There is pain. There is loss. There is anguish. There is also joy. There is triumph. There is growth. There is Life.

“Jane,” Dirk calls softly, and it's my turn to scoop the one I love into my arms, to spin him, to kiss him and hold him. He holds me tightly, clings to me.

“I'm here,” I murmur, holding him. He needs to not fall. “I won't run away.”

“Lookin' good, Janey!” Roxy calls, waving and grinning, her other arm around Kris' waist. He nods to me, smiling.

Smiling is such a wonderful thing. I could do it all the time. Gently, I float back down, setting Dirk down. My Quest Bed is inert. It has done its job and it will be absorbed in time, offered to another Maid of Life. I'm glad. Someone else will help her friends endure.

Once Dirk lets me go, I go to Roxy and Kris, hugging them both together tightly. Roxy's life-force is muted, but I feel the bright sparks of her behind it. Kris is easy to sense. He is neither fully human nor fully machine, but a hybrid of both. He thinks and feels and endures.

“I love you,” I say, and he understands. They both understand. “I love all of you.”

The Prospitians crowd around, eager to give me gifts, and in turn, I give them the best gift I can. I love all of them. Every last one.

“So, the plan,” Dirk says after a moment. “Roxy and I will go with – Kris – to Derse. It will be a bit more difficult to get to our Quest Beds, but I think we can manage.”

“I've got a plan,” Kris says, with a grin that widens. “I have so many plans.”

“Good for you,” Dirk murmurs, though without anger. “Jane will find Jake, and then...”

“And then we've got some new planets to unlock,” I say. “Let's get it done.”

They all nod. Dirk retrieves his rocket-board, holding it under one arm. The other draws me close, he kisses me. He still feels. He's not pleased with all that he feels, but he feels. I'm glad.

“I'll find him, I promise,” I say. Dirk nods. Roxy gets on behind him, linking her hands around his waist. Kris simply flies, and off they go. Up, up, and away.

\--

GG: Jake.  
GG: Jake, I'm coming to find you.  
GG: We're going to hug things out, and everything will be alright.  
GT: No.  
GG: Jake?  
GT: No, everything will not be alright.  
GT: You have to know that. You have to see.  
GG: You're wrong, Jake. I know that everything will be okay, because you have people who love you. People who care.  
GT: You won't say that when you know what I've done.  
GG: Jake.  
GT: What?  
GG: What makes you think I don't already know?

\--

Jake is hiding on his world. It isn't hard to find him. I can sense so much, feel so much. The worlds are beautiful and shining. Dead? They weren't dead. Hibernating. Waiting. They anticipate. They welcome with the only arms they can.

Alright, so I may be slightly high on life at the moment, but can you truly blame me?

He's hiding in the ruins. They're quiet, still. He is not. He is bright and shining, a beacon. He's struggling by himself. Oh, Jake.

I fly down, landing near him, and walk on foot. The planet blooms under my feet. It's just been waiting.

“Go away,” Jake says, sniffling. I do not. “If you know then--”

“You made a mistake,” I say. “We all make mistakes. No one is angry with you.” I go to touch his back. He flinches. Soul-scars don't heal so easily, it seems, or perhaps...

“You should be!” Jake cries. “I was weak, I couldn't do anything! I--” He stops when I hug him. He stops and he shakes and he cries.

I stroke his hair. “He was always meant to get in,” I say. “He used you. He could have used any of us. Roxy as she sleepwalked into the Void. He could have used Dirk.”

“He liked Dirk,” Jake says, muffled. This is a serious and sad moment, but this is a fantastic angle on his butt. I rub his back a little. “He respected Dirk. He thought they were the same. Hard and cold, but very strong.”

“He must not have appreciated how we changed Dirk,” I say, and he stiffens. “Jake?”

“I thought he loved you more,” Jake whispers. “I was angry and jealous. Those stupid pictures. You and Dirk, Dirk and Roxy, you and Roxy... nothing he took seriously, but I took it to heart. None of us.”

“I've always wondered why,” I say, considering, “Caliborn never asked for pictures of you and Dirk. Dirk even mentioned it, you remember.”

“That's because Cherubs don't understand romantic relationships at all,” Jake says. “At least, not ones that aren't like dear Callie. He hates her so much. He's supposed to. He and Callie lived in the same body. It was a competition. He viewed her as weak. He viewed her as an enemy. Hated. He had to. Can you imagine trying to compete for domination against someone you actually **liked**?”

“No,” I admit. “I'd try to find a compromise. Some way for us to all be happy.”

“They can't,” Jake says. I sit down, and he sits with me. I draw him into my lap and he curls up. I rub his back. Damn, but if he had a proper yard, all of the boys would in fact be brought to it. Nope, filter still gone. “So they have to compete. A girl and a boy, a nice one and a mean one. One wins and triumphs, the other one goes away and dies.”

“That's awful,” I murmur. “So, Callie..?”

“He had her murdered her on Prospit,” Jake says. “I couldn't – we couldn't – there was nothing we could do. He cheated to get into the game. He cheated to kill his sister when she couldn't defend herself.” He twists a little. “He didn't... want pictures of myself and Dirk because unlike all the others, he didn't want **that** one to be an object of ridicule. Of abhorrence in his sight.”

“I'm sorry,” I say. “It wasn't right of him, or fair. He shouldn't have used your relationship with Dirk like that.” I pause. “It was **your** relationship with Dirk, wasn't it?”

He shifts. “Yes, though... Janey, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you felt that way about him. You should have said something.”

I laugh a little. “I had no idea I felt like anything about him,” I say. I ruffle my fingers through Jake's hair. “The person I had a crush on was you, from the day I saw you on Prospit, asleep.”

He sits up a little to look at me. His eyes are wide. “Really? I asked you, though. You said you didn't.”

“I know that,” I reply, and rest my hands on his shoulders. He has such green eyes. Like forests. “I was kicking myself out of sheer stupidity the whole time. I was frustrated and short with you, with Dirk... it wasn't fair.”

“I know that I'm a disaster,” Jake says. He isn't. “I know things are urgent.” Less urgent than before. “I know that you have Dirk and you're happy.” I do and I am, but I share Dirk. “But I have to wonder, Miss Jane Crocker, if you might have a conjured feeling for me left.”

In response, I kiss him. I think Dirk and I can both share.

\--

TT: Jane. I'm sorry to interrupt.  
GG: I have good news. Jake and I are going to spend some time unlocking his world. When we're done, we'll rejoin you.  
GG: It's a fascinating world, Dirk. You should feel it.  
TT: Jane, I think that's great.  
TT: I absolutely do.  
TT: But there's something we need to talk about first.  
GG: Oh? What's that?  
TT: Derse has a third Quest Bed.  
GG: Oh? Who is it for?  
GG: Jake is asking if it has the Time symbol on it.  
TT: No. It doesn't.  
TT: If I'm reading this correctly, this Quest Bed belongs to the Thief of Doom.

**End Disc 1**

**Insert Disc 2?**

**[Yes] [No]**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys! The end of Disc 1!!
> 
> I really want to thank all of you for reading and enjoying. I have part of Disc 2 written, but not all of it, so the update schedule for Disc 2 will probably be slower, and I'm also going to start posting another story soon. It will be another Dirk/Jane story, so you'll be able to find it through that tag, or just on my author page.
> 
> Thank you all again, see you for Disc 2!


End file.
